The Chosen Few [IC|40K]

[Northern Poland]

Mercaekha Taristus

He looked at his brother, Absolutely furious at his mention of the 76th Company, and in such a manner. He then looked at his other brother, one he respected greatly, give him the what-for. "As Oberon said, maybe you should get back to ruling your sand Castle. I'm sure you can find some sticks to use to reinforce the palace's walls." He had a sour view of Coracus, but this had put him on a level on par with Cyprig, maybe they could get along swell. A rather weak response, but he had nothing to offer aside from Anger and blows.

He turned away, walking to where the other Primarchs delegated to Training where, his fists still clenched, as he held his anger from displaying itself so prominently again, as it was against his personality. He needed to get back into form and remove his thoughts from that altercation. His attention was required elsewhere, and with good reason.

Regardless, he turned back to the Training primarchs, and spoke to them, "Sorry about that, Coracus can be a real bother when he wishes, did I miss anything?"

[Union Princes]

"Ah, I see Napoli and Remigius made it. Whose shoulders did they have to sit on to see the proceedings properly? Haha!"

Legacy of the Little Lion #2

Quite frankly, it was to be expected a comment like that was made. Emperor knows how many remarks are made every day bout Napoli's height. It was a jest. A pointless one at that yet Napoli refuse to contend with that. The youngest sibling can only bite his tongue in restraint but that did not prevent Napoli from giving Coracus a death glare so intense an Ork can die from it. In his mind was a hundreds of different scenarios playing out ways to enact retribution for this slight. But unfortunately, a sibling brawl in front of the family gathering as well as the rest of the Imperial officers was a sure way to attract the Emperor's ire. Napoli would've went ahead to retaliate his older brother if it weren't for Remigius intervening.

Remigius walked over to the other primarchs of the Emperor's Shield, hands in the pockets of his plain brown robe. "Much to discuss," Remigius nodded. "True enough." He looked up at Titus. "Most of my Marines will be needed for the reconnaissance of the Sector. But those who remain, together with the Discimen Rangers, should suffice to organize the construction of civil infrastructure. This planet is about to get about a hundred million new residents. We can make sure there is housing, heating, water, medical infrastructure, and transportation available to accommodate them." The Healer nodded to Napoli. "Naturally, we could use all the extra hands we can get in that project."

Shook out of his brooding rage, Napoli gave a polite grunt in response to Remigius. Now's not the time to be petty, Napoli remembered, he has work to do. The entire Legion of Emperor's Talons have work to do. First, to fix this planet, and then to fight in the crusade. "Just tell me when we're starting and I can assign my corps to help assist on the numerous tasks." Napoli huffed.

[Imperialisium]

Vasilisa Sanguina
Primarch of the 5th Legion, The Sun Angels

Vasilisa kept her hands clasped, legs crossed, as Malcador and her siblings wrapped up the brief conversation of what was to come. A massive Imperial campaign against the Eldar. That mysterious and treacherous xenos species that matched the best of Mechanicus technology equally with their psyker powers. A Xenos foe that the Imperium had skirmishes with, the odd clash, but largely not fought in any grand scale. A Xenos foe that dispatched two Expeditionary Fleets back to back in a short period of time. A dangerous foe that would likely be a threat to overall Imperial colonization and consolidation of nearby star systems. A prospect that could not, should not, and will not be ignored. As the Emperor himself deemed. So it would be so.

Vasilisa leaned back with the silent hum of servos on the stone chair which showed admirable strength in supporting her and her siblings in their armour. Needless to say the late arrival of Coracus was what caused a spark of temper among her younger siblings. Uncrossing her legs and rising to stand, Vasilisa was easily shorter and smaller than her male siblings, but did not pale in authority nor will. "Enough, Brothers. We have much to plan among ourselves." She whispered something into the vox receivers of her collar armour and within thirty seconds a pair of 5th Legion Astartes carried a portable holo-lith between them on steel handles. Placing the bulky impromptu table down a Techmarine followed. Assisted by several Legion serfs as they connected power cables, spooled wiring, and through proper manuals willed the machine-spirits to life. The Techmarine pressed a series of glyphs and rotated several dials until a colour image of the Ishariel Sector swam into view.

as the image swam into view Vasilisa spoke with a wry smile as her tactical mind whirred through a dozen scenarios. "Malcador gives us orders as a member of the Council of Terra and Regent. As bland as they may be. I suggest we take them in an artful approach." The Techmarine nodded and Vasilisa approached to manipulate the holo-lith herself. Pulling up the various stars of the Ishariel Sector.

"Stellar Charts are only partially complete but decently reliable to arrive in Sector without much issue. I suggest we conduct multiple objectives simultaneously. While Dolgota is fortified, detachments of those legions will follow after the advance vanguards of the reconnoitering legions. Establishing important logistic depots in the Sector. Speed is of essence and mitigating that Eldar advantage is a priority. All of this strength is useless if we cannot catch them to bring it to bear upon them. They will slink away at every chance and lay whatever traps that they can."

The Sector was magnified to bring the various stars into a clearer picture with the orbiting celestial bodies, marked asteroid belts known to Imperial astronomic arrays in neighboring regions of space, and lastly the locations of the destroyed Expeditionary Fleets. "My 5th Legion will operate in two components. Half will strike at Mirienh with the anvil. I will lead the other to Duro with the intention of paralyzing their reserves which could be mobilized to assist on other battlefronts. Secure a position deep in the Sector before meeting up with Legion elements advancing from Halathel and towards Syph."

[Ameriganastan]

Oberon raised himself out of the cracked stone chair and walked towards his smaller brother with a vehement look on his face. Bringing down his hand heavily on the other Primarch's shoulder and spinning him around to face Oberon, the Primarch of the 9th glared down at Coracus as if he were some kind of daemon,

"Brother, I suggest you shut your mouth and cease antagonizing our siblings. Unless your head is so full of sand you cannot hear me that is. Why don't you shove some bugs in the annoying mouth of yours and go play caveman in the forests? The adults are talking right now." Oberon growled, "If not, I'm afraid I'll have to remove you." He activated the fists of god at that moment, arcane bolts of lightning danced between his fingers. His grey eyes fixed at Coracus. Oberon applied a little pressure to his brother's shoulder, ever so slightly cracked the armor plating.

"Brothers, if you require assistance in fortifying the planet in the void I would be happy to help" He added in the direction of the Primarchs of the Emperor's Shield.

Now Coracus was many things. But stupid wasn't one of them...okay, he was kind of stupid. But not stupid enough to continue his prodding when it had gotten Oberon's attention. The Emperor may have claimed his creations knew no fear, but Coracus dared any man, Primarch or Astarte, to claim that when The Black Chaplain had his hand on them.

"Oh, very well. I can see when my jokes aren't appreciated. Why must I be the only one of us cursed with a sense of humor. Now if you'd kindly remove your hand, brother. I should really return to my ship and prepare."

He tried prying Oberon's hand off his shoulder...to no avail. After a few more moments of pathetic struggle, he simply resigned himself to standing there.

"...On second thought, I'll remain here for a bit more. Sure there's important strategy to absorb."

[Union Princes]

Vasilisa Sanguina
Primarch of the 5th Legion, The Sun Angels
"Stellar Charts are only partially complete but decently reliable to arrive in Sector without much issue. I suggest we conduct multiple objectives simultaneously. While Dolgota is fortified, detachments of those legions will follow after the advance vanguards of the reconnoitering legions. Establishing important logistic depots in the Sector. Speed is of essence and mitigating that Eldar advantage is a priority. All of this strength is useless if we cannot catch them to bring it to bear upon them. They will slink away at every chance and lay whatever traps that they can."

The Sector was magnified to bring the various stars into a clearer picture with the orbiting celestial bodies, marked asteroid belts known to Imperial astronomic arrays in neighboring regions of space, and lastly the locations of the destroyed Expeditionary Fleets. "My 5th Legion will operate in two components. Half will strike at Mirienh with the anvil. I will lead the other to Duro with the intention of paralyzing their reserves which could be mobilized to assist on other battlefronts. Secure a position deep in the Sector before meeting up with Legion elements advancing from Halathel and towards Syph."

Legacy of the Little Lion #3

Napoli's gaze quickly caught on to Vasilisa's 3-D map. His mind enraptured by by her strategy. Napoli was about comment on her ideas but his words has been replaced by a more emotional response. "Madness!" he complained, "I can't fortify Dolgota and send my legion to the Crusade." He silently cursed in his mind. There is no doubt that he stood at a chance to gain greater glory fighting alongside his brethren than remaining here. He could split is legion but his pride demands that everyone in the Legion must be present.

[Skaldia]

Icarion Anasem

Blessed is the mind too small for doubtTheme

Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers.

It had been entirely unexpected for Icarion and it perturbed him greatly. It was a feeling he had never encountered before. The visions had been clear. An heir would be Chosen. Instead, another campaign. Admittedly this was the largest campaign conducted since the taking of the Sol System. That had been the one kernel of truth in what Icarion had divined. Icarion had fully intended to meet his Father in the first time in years and be chosen as that heir, to assume command of the Great Crusade and lead the forces to face the Darkness he sensed at the heart of Ishariel. Too long had the Emperor been consumed in His personal projects, spending more and more time away from battle. It had become readily apparent to Icarion that he would be the one to be made Heir.

However, the time between landing and taking his place in the Chamber and no presence brushed Icarion's consciousness like the Sun. Icarion's attitude went to grim but not melancholy. That had changed when, instead of the Emperor striding forth boldly and meet most of His Children in the first time in years, Malcador the Sigillite had shuffled like a wounded lamb for sacrifice. He had gave his spiel, no doubt as he had been instructed to do by the Emperor, and then promptly left. He had been more distant than ever did Icarion see the Regent. But Icarion did not give it as much thought as it otherwise might have deserved. No, Icarion would appear to become more quizzical, withdrawn from the activity going on about him.

The Emperor had, once more, chose to be consumed by work better fit for Malcador to head. He was their Father. If he wished for his Sons and Daughter to bleed, Icarion needed His wisdom to guide Icarion. Of anyone, the Emperor would understand Icarion's apprehension and visions. But instead it had been Malcador. Icarion had never trusted the Sigilitte and so was in total agreement with when the 5th Legion Primarch declared the overall strategy of the campaign as bland and recommended a different approach.

He felt chastiszed for having not taken command of the gathering and allowed Oberon to confront Coracus. Icarion could admire Coracus' devotion to being a Raptor's ass. But every family needed one, he supposed. Rising from the crumbling throne, Icarion approached the table as Vasilia did, listening to her planning the assault on Duro. He could understand it but at the same time he wondered what that would mean for the main assault on Mirienh itself. When she had finished speaking, he motioned to their brother Napoli. As ever, the youngest Primarch was overly eager to prove himself. He was a Brother to Icarion, that was proof enough for whatever deficiency Napoli might have, surely. Despite that, he had the largest Legion of the three Legions planned to take Mirienh. That could be used.

"I recommend my Legion devote units to Duro as well," he motioned to Raiden who stepped forth and began muttering quietly into his vox link, relaying what had been decided and whatever orders Icarion might give. He knew Napoli wouldn't resist the chance for this,"Napoli." Icarion glanced at his youngest brother,"I trust you most to be in overall command of the forces that take Mirienh." Napoli would fall all over himself to take such a prestigious command. Meanwhile, Icarion sensed something amiss with the mentioning of Duro. While, strategically, it made sense. Icarion felt something waiting at Duro. Something he did not trust to leave to dear Sister.

Icarion turned back to the flickering holograph being projected into the center of the chamber. He pointed towards a spot,"Here would be a perfect place, I think, for a forward operating base for the reconnoitering forces sent in." The location in question that he had pointed to was on the edge of the Kythonar Gulf and near the Halathel Subsector. It would be good point for any forces sent in. After perusing the map for a little longer, Icarion said,"I suggest reconnaissance forces leave almost immediately to reach targets further in the sector." It was good to focus on something that was in front of Icarion that he could tackle and he did so eagerly. It was a welcome distraction from the coil of doubt slithering in his stomach.

He glanced at Elyrian and Oberon before giving Raiden a pointed look. Raiden nodded to the message, and spoke quickly through vox link,"Prepare word to send the 2nd Fleet." The 2nd Fleet would be more than enough to engage in search and destroy missions in the endless depths of the Kythonar Gulf. It'd give Icarion time to prepare the forces he could muster. After the destruction of the Kallos AI, he'd be less than half strength with his Auxilia. However, the Lightning Bearers were almost exclusively focused in the Kallos System still, each Marshal preparing to lead their Maniples once more into the stars. Soon, they would be receiving word to head for Dolgota. They would not be alone in doing so.

Abell Tyrann soon entered the Chamber and Icarion notched an eyebrow. Now why would the Mechanicus be getting out of this? Dolgota? Something else? Icarion was resolved to find out. With the Archmagos finished speaking, Icarion in turn replied."As ever, we are grateful to have the assistance of Mechanicum," Icarion nodded towards the Archmagos before waving a hand to indicate the hologram."And how much has the Mechanicum devoted to the task the Emperor has given us?"

[Kyavan]

Primarch Oberon Gothicus
IX Legion "Fallen Angels"

Dolgata,

Oberon released his tight grip on Coracus and deactivated the fists of god. Brushing his long hair out and the way, he strode forward and joined the gaggle of Primarchs over the table. He looked over to Napoli and let loose a deep, rare chuckle before his eyes returned to the display. He pointed to tiny warships signifying the dozen fleets above Dolgata.

"The 9th has arrived here in full force. Icarion, if you need to devote your men elsewhere the Fallen and I can handle the missions in the gulf. Our forces alone should be enough to begin an offensive. Even without the Crucifixata we should be able to handle anything the knife-ears throw at us." His voice was deep growl. Oberon lets his hand drop and looks towards Icarion with an expectant look on his face.

Consul Giaus ghosted up next to his primarch with a grim look on his face and passed him a datapad. Oberon looked at it for a moment and turned his attention back to Icarion. Something caught his eye back on the datapad and his eyes returned back to it. Oberon's face darkened with rage.

"I want the Crucifixata here immediately. They will join the crusade." He growled.

[Skaldia]

Co-Write Between Skaldia, Imperialisium, Kyavan, and Ameriganastan

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

Icarion's jaw tightened upon hearing Oberon speak. Despite Icarion's best efforts, Oberon had rebuffed any offer of friendship from Icarion. It had been like a smack in the face to the overly proud, honorable 1st Primarch. While he did not doubt the prowess of the Fallen Angels, especially in the field of warfare, Icarion was resolved to carry out the orders given to him by the Emperor. He would do as his Lord Father had ordered, even if the orders in question had come from the human psyker, Malcador.

"Oberon," Icarion smoke slowly, absolute black eyes meeting those of the Fallen Angel Primarch over the glow of the hologram,"My orders are to assist in the search for the Xenos in the Gulf." Icarion straightened slowly, jaw clenching."You cannot ask me to disobey the word of our Father." Icarion said softly, where only the Primarchs and maybe the Archmagos could hear.

Oberon Gothicus
Primarch of the 9th Legion, the Falling Angels

"Brother. Our father has chosen to leave the crusade to us." Oberon growled, his misty grey eyes unreadable. Almost like murky pools of obscurity. "Therefore the decisions of the crusade are up to us. It'd be better conserve your legion's strength. The Fallen are more than prepared to handle the gulf."

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

"And I decide to follow my Emperor's orders as they were given to me." He growled back,"Whereas some of us would prefer to interpret them as they see fit." The second part was said louder, sharp words ringing through the Chamber. In perhaps decades, Icarion could be said to be truly angry. An uncharacteristic break from character for Icarion.

"The Rakurai 2nd Fleet will engage in search and destroy missions in the Gulf. Per the wishes of our Emperor." With your support or not. Were the words that went unspoken between them. Icarion needed men he could trust everywhere. Normally, Icarion would have allowed the Fallen Angels to take over command in hunting for the Xenos. It was a duty they were perfectly suited for.

As tried as he might, he could not allow himself that. Not this campaign. Too much was at stake.

Vasilisa Sanguina
Primarch of the 5th Legion, the Sun Angels

My brothers, as mostly dear to me that they may be, suffer from personalities that would give the greatest operatic singers from Terra a run for their money. Vasilisa eyed her brothers with blatant annoyance. "Perhaps, if you two Progenium girls are finished. We can get back to planning the campaign." There was no question. Phrased as it was, Vasilisa's tone spoke of raw authority, and she wouldn't parlay with them further.

Oberon Gothicus
Primarch of the 9th Legion, the Fallen Angels

Oberon met his brother's angry gaze with the same grim, indifferent stare before turning to Vasilisa. "I am not a... Progenium Girl Vasilisa. But I agree, let us return to the campaign. Lest we draw too much attention to ourselves and the Sand Child bounces over here." He hissed through a clenched jaw and grit teeth.

Coracus Isserec
Primarch of the 13th Legion, the Blades of Solus

"You know, sister dear, I wouldn't throw around progenium girl as an insult." Coracus chuckled. "Believe it or not, progenium girls who model themselves to look like you are quite common...and disturbingly popular. It sounds slightly heretical if you ask me, but I don't judge. But yes, to business. Imperium to expand, xeno to kill, etc."

Vasilisa Sanguina
Primarch of the 5th Legion, the Sun Angels

Vasilisa ignored her brothers comments, she knew they were on edge and it best let it lie, for she had made her point known. Instead, Vasilisa opted to pointed to where the two expeditionary fleets had been destroyed. "Stellar debris and information gleaned from the destruction of the two vessels suggests they were ambushed, at speed, and destroyed in relatively short order. This was no pitched battle or drawn out fight. The lack of xenos debris supports this. We must, as caution demands, estimate that at least two sizable Eldar fleets are present in the region and operating at least a two dozen capital ships if not many more."

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

"Which would necessitate fleets from not just the 9th, brother." Icarion said, following on what Vasilisa was leading towards. He had taken the chastising from her with forbearance. Now was not the time for such, after all. Lest he do the work of the Darkness he sensed ever coiling in the distance."Not just my 2nd Fleet but elements of the Calmorans as well."

Oberon did not seem to take Icarion's stubborn stance well. And promptly stormed out of the Gathering, followed quickly by his Consul.

Co-Write Between Drumon, Antimersia, and Kyavan

Zahariel Nauth
Primarch of the 17th Legion, the Penitent Sons

Zahariel breathed in deep. The stench of death was faint, but still there. Like the flowers of Amaltrax wilting in the fall. A small, faint touch of sensation, the only memory of countless millions of lives snuffed out in an instant.

This world, Dolgata, was like so many other he had visited. The primarch reflected for a moment; had he known anything but this stench? Were he not a primarch, would be able to sense it? If he did, would it mean anything? From his first moments he had been obsessed with this death. The wilting of flowers, the countless infidels he slaughtered at his home, the many xenos, rebels, and enemies he killed to such an extent he couldn't remember any of their faces. A true feat, given his memory. Dolgata would be but another world his father had ordered conquered - taken from a race who seemingly failed to grasp the meaning of death. The greenskin were a vile, primitive race who seemingly saw death as a sport, devoid of meaning or context, and treated like a goal in a game. Yet...

Was he any different?

Each world he broke, person he slew...it would be a lie to say he didn't revel in it. What was peace? He fought for it but never experienced it. Never knew it. The people of Amaltrax had spoken of peace, peace that Zahariel had brought, and then his favor came.

He snapped out of his musings and focused on the Spire ahead. The Emperor had demanded his presence, and based on the heraldry present at the entrance, Zahariel was late. A failure he would make sure to punish himself for later.

Before he could enter, he saw his brother, Cyprig Lussard, analyzing as he always did new information in the ruins. Many of the other primarchs found Cyprig's methods...distasteful, to say the least. But Zahariel had never found issue with Cyprig's conduct - he did not destroy any but the enemies of the Imperium and, like Zahariel, enjoyed the revel that can be had in methodical conquest. Zahariel did not share the same speed with which his brother were dedicated to destruction, his legion did posses the same passion for assault, but they were nonetheless two sides of the same coin.

He approached his brother with an open smile. "Brother! I must guess your business was concluded. The Emperor did not task a legion of your talents with shifting through the rubble, did he?"

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

Cyprig had begun pawing through the ruins, searching for any bit of valuable knowledge left. Although, much to his disappointment, between the mindless Orks and the waste laid upon them by Vasilia and Elyrian's legions there was nothing of value left to find. Knowing Elyrian, if there was anything of value he would have taken it for himself. A fact that Cyprig would have to speak with his brother about while they are on the same planet.

Cyprig heard Zahariel's voice and stepped away from the rubble and ruins to locate the source. He slowly walked towards Zahariel in his long and almost lanky gait as he replied, "Worse dear brother. Malcador, on our father's behalf, has given me with the paltry task of logistics. He wants me coordinating the influx of supplies and manpower to the planet. I fear the sigilite doesn't trust me much." Cyprig says with his wide crooked smile forming behind his gothic pitch black helm. He extends a hand to shake Zahariels in greeting, something Cyprig rarely did with others. Cyprig did like Zahariel. They say the Primarchs all represent aspects of the father himself. If we assume that to be true Cyprig and Zahariel both come from the Emperor's more.... dedicated side.

"What of you? Have you been brought up to speed? Or have you just now arrived?" Cyprig asks inquisitively.

Zahariel Nauth
Primarch of the 17th Legion, the Penitent Sons

Zahariel reached out and and embraced Cyprig. It was a rare display of comradery between Primarchs, but the utter destruction of the enemy was something few, even among the primarchs, truly appreciated.

"Alas, I have only just arrived. I shall reward myself a few lashes for the mistake." He laughed at his own suggestion.

"I am surprised it is Malcador that has come to greet us. That is grim tidings."

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

"You are not the only one who was surprised. Icarion was caught off guard as well, as troubling as that prospect is." Cyprig replied, noting his brother's rare lack of foresight. "Malcador explained to us that two Imperial fleets were lost to an attack by the Eldar in this system. And as if the father were speaking directly to us, has ordered the eradication of the Eldar in this sector of the galaxy." Cyprig explained with a somewhat gleeful tone.

Zahariel Nauth
Primarch of the 17th Legion, the Penitent Sons

The Eldar - that made sense. They were the only ones with the grace, speed, and precision to eliminate these fleets simultaneously. The greenskins were too brutish to do so, not unless they had the numbers, and all reports indicated there simply weren't enough to warrant that large an Orkish fleet.

Destroying such fleets was likely meant as a symbol. The Aeldari were too advanced to not realize the coming vengeance the Imperium would bring, a paternal slap to a rebellious child. It was an arrogant move - for an arrogant race.

The primarch smiled. He would enjoy bringing such a proud race low. He and his siblings would break their bodies and their minds.

"I am glad to hear we have been tasked with their eradication. I have fought this greenskin menace for too long, they have become predictable. Boring. The Eldar will prove a much more elusive foe. Catching them in our grasp will be all the more satisfying."

The primarch looked for listeners.

"I don't doubt the father speaks through Malcador, but I question your use in logistics. I know that it seems a boring role - as it is - but perhaps this task will prove itself more interesting than believed. The Aeldari are known for quick strikes into supply lines. So far from their home, perhaps you could take one of them in these attacks - learn about their xeno biology."

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

Cyprig raised an eye brow at Zahariel. Though under his helmet it is not visible. "I am hurt Zahariel. Do you think so little of me as to believe I would not think of such a thing?" Cyprig asked somewhat sarcastically. I have yet to truly even begin my plans. I have my own Auxilia coming from Archimedaes with a massive food supply shipment. I intend to use them as bait. I am more interested in Aeldari physiology that you know. Their psyker abilities are particularly worrying to me." Cyprig explains, his hatred of psykers ever growing since him time on Arhcimedaes where the knight house of his home world opressed the masses through psychological warfare led by the psykers the house had under them.

"Althought I have read reports of the Eldar tactics. They do not allow themselves to be captured. Not willingly at least. Of course this does not mean we cannot succeed in the task. Simply that we will have to work harder in pursuit of the goal. But, if we fail there will be plenty more Eldar to study during the crusade. So don't beat yourself up about it." Cyprig says, with a light chuckle at the end.

Oberon Gothicus
Primarch of the 9th Legion, the Fallen Angels

Oberon, noticing the two Primarchs conversing outside the hall decides to pay both a visit before greeting two more of his consuls. He weaves through the masses of Imperial Army personnel, dispatches Gaius to go meet the landing Fallen Consuls and joins the conversation. "Brothers, I see you two are bonding on your love of studying xenos. In truth, I have always found the Eldar to be a little too... breakable. One good blow to the knee and they're dead in a heartbeat." Oberon shrugged. "I am in favor of this cull, I've smiled twice today because of it. That has been the most happiness I've shown in almost 40 years. Despite our differences Cyprig, I'm glad we can agree the the Aeldari and the psykers are a major threat.". Oberon's expression grew haunted for a moment, like he'd experienced their power up close.

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

"Agreed Oberon. You may not be a fan of scorched earth. But it is always nice to see someone agree with me that the only true way to rid ourselves of these xeno infestations are with systematic annihilation. That being said, I do ask that you don';t aim for the head. Any knowledge we can obtain will serve to make our efforts all the more efficient." Cyprig replies to Oberon.

Zahariel Nauth
Primarch of the 17th Legion, the Penitent Sons

Zahariel greeted Oberon's arrival with a jovial expression. Another brother of his that favored systematic xenocide.

"Ahah, brothers, the Eldar are quite breakable. It's what I love best of them. Their long lives and high opinions of themselves make their passing into the Warp all the more beautiful. I cannot wait to express the superiority of our legions."

His smile faded slightly.
"I hope to capture one less to learn, but to see how long even the mightiest xenos race can last in our grasp."

Oberon Gothicus
Primarch of the 9th Legion, the Fallen Angels

"Excuse me brothers, but I have yet more buisness to attend to." Giving a curt nod to Zahariel and look of distast in Cyprig's direction. He returned to his ship and retrieved a large black leather case from it and began weaving through the croud towards his Brother Samael who was setting up cooking tools.

[Segmentia]

Titus Ironborn, Imperial Wardens

As the Malcador turned and left, the Primarchs stood and began forming into groups to discuss the news and orders. Titus rose to his feet as he saw some of his brothers approaching, the fellows of the Emperor's Shield. He nodded to Nikolai, Remigius, and Napoli, who might not have been his closest siblings, but he was close enough with them. "We do indeed have much to discuss brothers, though allow me an indulgence to say it is good to see you all again. The consequences of my misplaced pride has robbed me of your company for too long." He said, genuinely happy to see not just this group of brothers again, but all his siblings. Even Cyprig! For the moment however, Titus ignored the going-ons across the room and focused on the brothers before him.

"We have quite the task before us. Remigius, I won't assume to command you or your legion, and as you say most of your legion will be needed elsewhere. I propose those left here can work on preparing and directing efforts for civilian infrastructure. With the Mechanicus soon to be arriving in force, we will no doubt see an influx of millions of workers, and this ravaged world will need to be prepared for that. Nikolai, Napoli, I believe our legions will be dealing with the brunt of the heavy lifting, and we can discuss the details later, once we take a proper look at the planet and settle on a plan of action." Titus said as he looked between his brothers. He would never assume to command them or their legions, but having been censured for decades and doing nothing but building and training had left him an even keener mind in construction and fortification. He turned and looked down at Napoli. "I apologize in advance, brother, but there isn't much glory in digging, but the work we do here will ensure there is glory enough for all." He said.

[Antimersia]

Co-Write Between Skaldia, Revlona, and Antimersia

Elyrian Manuxus
Primarch of the 8th Legion, the Sons of Calmora

Elyrian was dissatisfied, unhappy, angry, and for a lack of any better words, pissed off. He had been in his lab, minding his own business and trying to find a cure to the voice when an alert came for him. A large section of his own fleet had begun moving towards the far reaches of the system, as if on their own. Furious, Elyrian began immediately demanding if they had orders to do so, and if so, whom those orders came from as they certainly weren't his own. After an hour or so of maneuvering the entire fleet back into position, including those apparent rogue ships, he had his answer, Cyrprig. For some damned reason, that bastard had the nerves to give his brothers legions orders without first consulting Elyrian. It wouldn't stand and that was why Elyrian was planet side again, striding angrily towards his brother, in full armor and with an escort of his Knights of the Elk.

"Cyprig you bastard, how dare you? How dare you order around my sons as if they were your own? As if they were born in a lab like cattle you pox ridden ass!" Elyrian yelled as he spotted his "brother".

The Voice was silent in the back of his mind, but he could feel its presence, and he was ready to combat it should it emerge, for this was between himself and his brother, and no one, not even a possible figment of his imagination would interrupt.

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

Cyprig had been busy. Planning the movement of hundreds of massive ships to maximize their effectiveness in the delivery of supplies and manpower was a difficult job on its own. But yet there always seems to be some conflict that ruins it all once those plans are put into place. Elyrian's ships returning to their previous positioning, combined with Elyrian confronting Cyprig about his order, seemed to be the source of the conflict this time.

Cyprig sighed before he spoke, "Elyrian were you not listening when Maclador gave us our assignments? As droll a task as it may be logistics are none the less important. I dare command your ships to move as a kindness brother. Why waste my time, your time, and the time of all of our legions with asking you to direct your ships elsewhere? would your time not be better served somewhere else?" Cyprig asked in an attempt to justify his actions. An attempt that Cyprig had no expectations would succeed.

Elyrian Manuxus
Primarch of the 8th Legion, the Sons of Calmora

"Logistics? Are you mad? Or I'm sorry let me re phrase, are you becoming even more insane that you think that logistics give you the right to order around the forces of another Legion? Let alone mine? You must be mad.." Elyrian said, anger and astonishment in his voice at the simple yet unconvincing explanation as to why the orders had been sent. Elyrian had been ready to forgive an accident, an order given to a subordinate and misunderstood, but the arrogance of his so called brother in admitting he had given to orders purposely.

"You are out of order, I demand an immediate apology and for you to rescind the order...brother" Elyrian said, the anger and distaste evident in his voice as he said the word "Brother".

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

"An apology?" Cyprig laughs heartily. The cadence of the laugh bordering on maniacal. "Elyrian do you not understand how logistics work? I was tasked with the planning of the arrival of hundreds of ships. Those ships need a physical space to exist in. Your ships were in the best place. So I told them to move. Would you like to know who gave me that right? The Father, his will through the words of Malcador. So," Cyprig alters his tone slightly to be more pleasant, though almost mocking, "I would appreciate it if your would move your ships, so I can bring your damn soldiers some food. Of course, if you still take issue with me, or the order, feel free to discuss it with Malcador, or even the Father if he even answers your call."

Elyrian Manuxus
Primarch of the 8th Legion, the Sons of Calmora

A smile began to cross Elyrians face, one of pure distaste, anger, and a touch of mirth at the thought of what was to come next. Would he finally be able to give what was owed to his so called brother?

"My ships, will not be moving, an inch, without my say.." Elyrian said, enjoying the words as he said them.

"If you have a problem with that then you can try and solve it, right here and now you bastard, one way or another I will have my apology..." He said, shifting the grip on his axe and shield, and feeling his sons tense up behind him.

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

Cyprig stood there for a moment, thinking of as many possible outcomes as he could imagine. He knew that Elyrian's distaste for Cyprig's extreme results would lead to confrontation sooner or later between the two, but he never thought it would be over something so trivial.

"I must ask brother. Were you simply looking for a way to confront me?" Cyprig asks, beginning to almost psychoanalyze Elyrian in the moment. "This is such a trivial matter for you to be so aggressive over. I know you are smarter than this. Did you honestly expect that I would ask each Primarch's permission before I directed any of their ships? I do not expect to be asked permission in the training of my troops for combat against the Xenos. I expect you to simply direct them. Why do you not give me the same respect?"

Elyrian Manuxus
Primarch of the 8th Legion, the Sons of Calmora

"Looking for a way to confront you? You know better Cyprig, I hate you, I hate what you stand for and I hate you for your actions...but we share the same father, so that makes you my sibling....I respect father to much to try and off one of his greatest creations, no matter how much they deserve it." Elyrian said, anger seething into his voice.

The voice was still odly quite, but he could almost feel a sense of evil satisfaction radiating from it as he spoke, but no, that couldn't be right a part of his mind said so he shoved those thoughts aside.

"Yes I expect for you to inform me and ask me for my permission to order around my sons, you see, I actually regard them as being and not pieces of a wargame to be bred like cattle. I don't give you the respect because you haven't earned it, and I doubt you ever will. But I do respect and love father, so with that in mind...I won't kill you.." Elyrian said, hefting his axe into a readied position and beginning to walk toward the other creation of his father. Maybe a new arm would fit him Elyrian thought savagely.

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

"Enough."

The sound was like a storm given a word, rumbling with intensity and harsh intent.
Icarion had sought out the word of his brother, the 20th Primarch. The Akiran Mechanicum had promised their own shipments of supplies into the system, mostly building materiel to aid the Fallen Angels in the building of orbital defenses. Normally Icarion would have not been bothered with such minutia, tasking it to one of his officer's. However, he had eagerly sought this task, needing something to keep him busy.

What he had walked in on was Cyprig and Elyrian almost coming to blows. He would not have such behavior.

"You dishonor yourselves with such petty nonsense as this!" Icarion snapped, striding forth to stand between Elyrian and Cyprig. Unlike either of them, Icarion was unarmed. However, both would do well to remember the powers that a psyker such as Icarion possessed. As Eldest brother, he saw it as his duty to protect his brothers. Even if that meant from each other.

"Need I remind you that our enemy awaits? Would you do their work for them?" He turned to Cyprig. Icarion had listened on to the brief conversation between Elyrian and Cyprig and felt he could glean the source of the contention,"Cyprig. Apologize for overstepping your authority!" Icarion turned towards Elyrian,"Brother, be less hasty to touch iron." He said, nodding towards Elyrian's tight grip upon his axe,"We are family. We do our Father's work. Honor this."

Cyprig Lussard
Primarch of the 20th Legion, the Night Haunters

"Overstepping my authority?" Cyprig asks, his laughter turning to harsh vicar. He paces back and forth staring down both Icarion and Elyrian. "My 'authority' comes from Father himself. In the tasks he assigns me, he speaks through me. Elyiran flies in the face of the Father's will and you tell me to apologize!?! Ludicrous." Cyprig growls. He stps close towards Elyrian, pressing his body against Icarion as he stands between them. "Do what you wish with you ships, Elyrian. But be sure you bring your own food. I will not apologize to a meandering brute with so little respect for Either our Father or myself." Cyprig scoffs as he turns away from them both.

[Skaldia]

Co-Write Between Skaldia and Segmentia

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

Much had plagued Icarion's mind. With the news of the destruction of the Symphony of Empire still making it's way through the ranks of both Space Marines and Imperial forces, Icarion could no longer keep it at bay. He had searched for the most grounded of Primarchs, Titus Ironborn. However, upon the Bulwark translating at the edge of the Dolgota system, Titus had spent more and more time aboard his ancient battle station, foregoing many of the meetings going on daily in the radical change being wrought upon Dolgota and instead choosing to keep a distant hand on things.

After receiving permission from the defenses of the Bulwark to pass, Icarion and his Ash Phoenix had landed aboard the Bulwark and Icarion had been escorted to the private quarters of Titus. Unlike Icarion's quarters, Titus' was spartan to the point of being bare, benedictine to the extreme. Despite this, Icarion appreciated such austerity. It brought to focus what Icarion had come to discuss.

After being seated in a comfortable chair designed for such a frame as a Primarch, each warrior sat opposite each other while fine Madrigese sake was poured for the two of them in ceremonial china. Icarion had introduced the rice wine to Titus decades ago and, much to Icarion's surprise, had acquired a taste for it.

After bowing his head to his host and the first ceremonial sip of the wine, Icarion sat back in his chair and listened to the soft music being played on the brass phonograph in the corner, a type of music from Voln that Icarion could say he absolutely detested. But, as a guest in Titus' home, he attempted to appreciate the heavy vocalization and bass as much as he could.

After a moment of contemplation, Icarion spoke in the companionable silence between the pair."I worry for this Crusade, Brother. There is a reason why the Legions have normally never operated together in so many numbers." He said, referencing to the troubles brewing between the Legions.

Titus Ironborn
Primarch of the 11th Legion, the Imperial Wardens

It had taken Titus a degree of effort to not armor up and don his helm to hide his shame from his brother once the landing request was brought to him, but as it was only one of his siblings, and Icarion at that, Titus hadn't felt such a burning need to hide himself. The censure might not have been officially lifted yet, but working with other legions had reinvigorated his own legion, especially the almost seventy-five thousand untested Astartes.

Titus took a sip of the Madrigese sake and contemplated Icarions words for several steady seconds. "An understandable thing to worry about. I heard about the near fight between Cyprig and Elyrian. A bad sign for the start of our Fathers august campaign." He said in a steady voice.

Titus stood from his seat and walked to the phonograph, stopping the music. "You never did like Voln symphonies." He said as he turned back to Icarion with a small smile. "They can induce a certain brooding mood." He said and returned to the table.

"Perhaps my decades of censure has left me totally out of the loop, but some our out brothers seem almost eager to be at each others throats. And to squabble such while preparing for a campaign personally ordered by Father...yes, I certainly share your worries."

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

Icarion, even though he had not said so, appreciated Titus being open and forthcoming with Icarion. While Icarion could fully understand Titus' shame, he had been there after all, he often felt it had been allowed to define too much of Titus since. It had been a mistake, an egregious error in judgment. But Titus had paid many times over for that mistake since.

He was not surprised when Titus brought up the squabble between Elyrian and Cyprig. And over something so petty at that. Cyprig's refusal to apologize had been almost a breaking point for the overly proud warrior Primarch Elyrian. But, with Icarion's urging, Elyrian had allowed the dishonor to pass. Nevertheless, things were certainly frigid on the mostly temperate world of Dolgota.

Icarion hid his smile as he took another sip of the sake. Titus' sharp perception surprised Icarion even now, after all these decades. Icarion, nonetheless, appreciated the halting of the music."Nothing wrong in a little brooding here and there, surely." He jokingly stated, saluting the returning form of Titus with his china.

The joke's attempt at levity, however, mostly failed as Icarion remembered why he had needed the voice of Titus to temper his rising anxiety."Too eager. Such division can and will be exploited by the Aeldari. Tell me brother, as one who has suffered at the hands of such Xenos, what do you make of the upcoming Crusade? Are we walking into a grinder or shall we finally make them pay for what they have so far cost us?"

Titus Ironborn

Primarch of the 11th Legion, the Imperial Wardens

Titus set down his cup and leaned back in his chair slightly. "I believe we are marching our way into a trap." He said simply and nodded before explaining his reasons. "The Aeldari are not a foolish or brash xenos species, as much as some of them may seem to be. Their destruction of the the 78th and 901st fleets is something that would only ever have one response from us, large scale and total invasion of the Ishariel Sector. There is no way that they don't know that." Titus said and took another sip.

"I believe, and I hope I am incorrect on this, that the Aeldari want us to invade the Ishariel sector. And they wouldn't want that unless they thought that had a chance of winning or inflicting such losses on the Imperium that we would be crippled for decades to come."

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

Icarion sat back, contemplating the sensible and utterly horrifying words so simply spoken by the Ironborn Primarch. That would go a long way in explaining the darkness he felt surrounding the Crusade, the portents speaking of doom, and the visions of disaster that plagued his mind. It absolved some of his worry only to be replaced by yet more anxiety. He was wrong to think that Titus, as sharp as the man was, would not see the same things that kept Icarion pacing. Nevertheless, it was important that at least some of the Primarchs were aware of such a possibility. Even if the Aeldari were preparing a trap, the Father had been clear.

War was coming for Ishariel.

"I can only agree." He said softly, after spending a moment to chew on Titus' words. It was clear from the way he said it that he wished he could say otherwise."But our Father has been adamant. The sector must be cleansed. I think we must resolve to break the jaws of the trap when they close."

Titus Ironborn

Primarch of the 11th Legion, the Imperial Wardens

"While knowing of a trap isn't total proof against it, it does help us be prepared and ready to react whenever it is closed on us." Titus nodded in agreement. "And I am sure we will break its jaws, but I do not look forward to the cost of doing so. Perhaps the Aeldari didn't realize the amount of force that would be set against them, but they certainly know our strength by now, and it worries me more so that they continue to attack us here and there. If they were worried about the might mustered against them, they would have fled."

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

Icarion nodded,"I can only surmise as you have stated. In the deliberate destruction of our Expeditionary Fleets, we can only assume they would know the might that would descend on them. Which logically follows that they think they might be able to win or force us into a Pyrrhic victory." Icarion sipped his sake once more, staring down into the cup for a moment before looking up at Titus."I know you seek once more to win the favor of our father and thus absolve you of what happened when last you clashed with the Aeldari."

Icarion placed his china down and rose slowly from his chair."While I hope you wipe clean the shame from your brow, my friend, please be careful Brother." He pleaded, genuine concern tinging his voice."I sense something dark waits for us at the heart of Ishariel. I would not see the Ironborn once more bleed like they did at Hurox."

Icarion would have preferred to stay, maybe engage the crafty Titus in a game of regicide and talk of other, less weighty matters. But duty compelled him to return to the effort in preparing for the Crusade. Maybe, when the Crusade was over, Icarion would once more seek out Titus. No doubt Titus would make the attempt to persuade Icarion to at least try to enjoy a Voln symphony. Icarion would look forward to the effort.

"Alas, I must depart. But thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Titus. Your words have done much to ease my mind, even if they present new worries to mull upon!" he declared.

Titus Ironborn
Primarch of the 11th Legion, the Imperial Wardens

Titus rose from his seat. "Then I bid you a fond farewell, brother. And don't worry about me, the fire of vengeance has cooled over the decades, and I will not lead my legion astray again." He said as he made to walk Icarion to his shuttle. "You are going to leave the bottle though, yes?" He asked with a sly, barely seen, smile.

[Skaldia]

Osoweic,
Face of Marzanna
170.000.M31

The Climb

Casimir led the climb up the sheer cliff face of Mount Marzanna.Nearly a full sized company of neophytes, eight squads in all, followed. The Face of Marzanna, as it was called by the people of Osoweic, was a sheer ten kilometer tall cliff carved from the side of the mountain as if by a giant scalpel.

Since the inception of the Iron Sentinels, an important training mission carried out by the Neophytes had been to climb the Face without the use of anything but their hands. More than a few Neophytes had died, either frozen to the Face by the violent frigid storms that could come bellowing out of nowhere in the higher altitudes, or to fall to their death. Most disturbingly, some Neophytes simply disappeared. These were said to be snatched by the very jaws of Marzanna herself.

Such superstition, Casimir thought, was bound to arise, regardless of efforts by the Iron Sentinels to dissuade their peers of such superstition.

He swayed from his perch near eight kilometers in the air. At this height, a normal human would be frozen to death, if not before having run out of oxygen. For Casimir he could describe it as brisk. His superhuman enhancements allowed him to ignore the worst of it. Unlike the Neophytes laboring beneath him, he was bedecked in the armor of his Legion, which assisted his climb tremendously, his gauntlets punching into the stone of the cliff and finding grips with ease.

It also allowed him to keep an eye on the Neophytes with the optics in his helmet. Beneath him, spread out for over half a kilometer, were the Neophytes following their Boyan. The closest, Ivan, was a mere twenty meters below him, determination revealing itself as a snarl on the neophyte’s face as he fought grimly to match the pace of his Boyan.

Casimir matched that grin, though the neophyte would not see it. Turning his face back to look up, he began climbing once more. He had not made it ten meters before he heard a shout and looked down to his left. Jaromir, a rival of Ivan’s, had been steadily overtaking Ivan during the climb, though Casimir was unsure if Ivan knew that. Where Jaromir was supposed to be was nothing. The exultation he had found in two potential Iron Sentinels in Jaromir and Ivan was dashed. Jaromir had fallen to his death.

He resumed his climb. The Climb could not stop.

He heard more shouting within ten minutes and this time, when he looked, he caught the flash of something speeding by, blue and white armor of a design the veteran Iron Sentinels captain knew immediately. Eldar.

“Climb! Climb!” He roared, his voice carrying a great distance on the wind scorn cliff. While his words still echoed, he tried to raise a vox channel to the Iron Sentinels, cursing when he received only static, no doubt due to the atmospheric disturbance found at such a tenuous height. His only weapon was his boltpistol, having eschewed bringing his bolter or chainsword. He held one hand in the cliff face while the other pulled his boltpistol out.”Climb! Enemies are upon us!” He shouted, watching as one more Neophyte was cut down by bright bursts of laser fire.

The Climb continued. For the next half hour, Casimir held on to his point on the cliff, watching as the Swooping Hawks would swarm from the dense cloud cover then fire and retreat. He fired his boltpistol at what he could target, a grim smile curling his features as he saw one round punch into the chest of a frail Eldar but the weapon was almost useless in this situation and it was the only shot he was certain he had landed. When the weapon ran dry, he was forced to resume the climb. By the time he reached the top, three times the enemy had closed to scorch his armor and penetrate it with burning stabs of light. Despite that, he would not halt.

By the time he reached the top, only he and Ivan remained. The young Neophyte had held on, his back a burned mass and his hair completely gone. He had left a trail of blood in his desperate climb to reach the top and seeing Ivan having made it so far despite his grievous wounds brought tears to the old warrior’s face.

He reached down to help Ivan up and over the top. Their fingers touched, a brief moment of contact. A bright bolt of light skewered through the back of Ivan’s head and turned his uplifted face into a pink mist. With agonizing slowness, Ivan’s hand fell back and Ivan let go of the cliff and fell into the mist to join the rest of his brothers in death.

He pulled himself up over the lip, rolling to a kneeling position. A deep black despair had filled Casimir. He had watched as each of the charges he had been held responsible for die without the ability to defend themselves or strike back at their foe. It was the worst death a warrior could hope for. Wrath broke Casimir’s stoicism, causing him to visibly shake with barely contained fury. He lifted his head at some slight sound to find an arc of the deadly Aspect Warriors that had killed his command facing him. At their center was their leader, wings of purest white riding his back.

With a roar, Casimir launched himself at his enemies. He had moved but a muscle when bursts of light found him from a dozen cloudsweepers that soon left him a smoking ruin. He remained on his feet for a few moments before he came crashing to his knees, just out of reach of the Swooping Hawks Exarch that stood before him. Casimir shuddered a breath through punctured lungs and stared mutely as the Exarch pointed a weapon at Casimir’s face and pulled the trigger.

The Symphony of Empire
Infernus Class Battleship
375.000.M31

The Imposter

Chief Provost Veric knew there was an imposter aboard the the Symphony of Empire, an Infernus Class Battleship of the Fallen Angels Fleet. He had brought his suspicions to Lieutenant Kor, only to be declared off his rocker and sent back to his duties. It had been a sore blow to the venerable Chief Provost. After all, he had been serving as Provost for almost his entire life, decades spent policing the myriad corridors and massive assemblies of the battleship.

He couldn’t blame the Lieutenant really. An old, grizzled spacer coming to a Space Marine with suspicions of an imposter roaming the ship? When all the evidence seemed to be few missing krak grenades and the body of an Enginseer found with a wrench in the brain on the lower decks? Granted, it had been more than a few krak grenades, a dozen having gone missing despite protests from the Provosts that the weapons lockers had remained locked. And the body of the Enginseer could be explained to ship violence, even though it was rare for the adepts to be targeted. The Symphony was a city unto itself and gangs roamed the decks, violence a common theme between some of them over some slight insult or whatever. Even the minor Mechanicum adepts were sometimes attacked as clearly evidenced by Enginseer Ar-val-Ro’s untimely demise.

The reprimand had not halted Veric’s quest to find the culprit. He had continued his investigations and finally, he felt he had gotten a lead. The Symphony had just translated into yet another dead system, searching for the hated xenos that had so brazenly destroyed two of the Emperor’s Fleets. And with them was Lord Commander Gaius, using the Symphony as his flagship while he coordinated with the 1st Legion Fleet Assets in the system. It had been a great honor to have such a venerable warrior aboard this vessel.

It had also coincided with the theft of yet more from the weapons lockers, except this time it had been plasma charges. Veric had been prepared though for such an event. He had attached a tracking remote on the charges and was now using his auspex array to follow where the remote took him. He thought there might be something wrong with it though as it took him down to the plasma reactors in the lower decks of the ship, somewhere he had had very little reason to go to during his long career.

The first body he came across had been yet another Enginseer dead. This one had been riddled with small puncture holes in it’s face and throat and Veric’s worry became more pronounced. He began to hurry, holding his boltpistol up in front of him as he rushed towards the reactors. There would be only one reason why someone would take plasma charges to the reactors.

He rounded a corner to come face to face with the culprit. What he saw did not make sense. For one the imposter was far taller than most humans, and he wore the armor of a Fallen Angel! When the Space Marine turned around, Veric was shocked to see the face of Lieutenant Kor looking back at him. It didn’t make sense! Why would Kor steal krak grenades and plasma charges!? Veric’s bafflement seemed to be incredibly amusing to the Space Marines because the broad features of Kor broadened further to create a horrific smile.

The smile broke Veric’s indecision. Snarling, he raised his boltpistol and fired. The bolt slammed into the bulkhead behind Kor for the traitor was already moving, faster than even a normal Space Marine could manage. He knocked Veric’s weapon out of his hand as he came out of a roll in front of the Provost. The next thing Veric felt was an immense pressure on his throat. Suddenly, he was lying on his side, watching the metal floor become covered in an expanding crimson tide.

As he watched, light fading from his eyes, Kor held up a device and pressed the button. A shimmer surrounded Kor and, when the shimmering faded, in the Space Marine’s place stood the hated Xenos, her bright blue eyes boring into Veric’s as she held something else in her hands. A triggering device.”For the Aeldari.” She whispered with triumphant fury turning her inhuman beauty into something even more alien and frightening.

The Symphony of Empire shattered across the middle of her keel, one explosion followed by another and another before suddenly the battleship bloomed like a second star in the cosmos, all life aboard her taken without warning. Including the second in command of the entire Fallen Angels fleet, Gaius himself.

Syph
Fortress City of Carsaj
511.000.M31

The Syphite Conspirary

Syph was a world that sat on the border between the Halathel Subsector, Wild Space, and Saronic Expance. Despite this, it was the most diverse of the worlds in the entire Sector, home to the mysterious Asy’r who lived in floating stations in the atmosphere of Sypth, the world held a large Exodite population as well as around twenty million humans. The humans had been the survivors of a downed colony ship during the Dark Age of Technology. Despite this, peace had prospered between the Exodites, who viewed the humans as a curiosity and taught them how to live in the wilds of the Syphite Deeps, jungles between the Jagged Mountains.

These Deepsmen had lived in relative peace but distinctly apart from the Eldar. These Deepsmen Fortresses were built in the foothills of the Jagged Mountains and used terraced farming in those foothills to farm. They then tapped the lakes and rivers that could be found meandering their way down to the Deeps.

The Deepsmen were clannish, prone to war among themselves, but they respected the Eldar, giving them tithes of crops to keep the warriors of the Exodites at bay. It was in this situation that Sergeant Orsino had been thrust into. He had spent weeks with his fellow Raiders reconnoitering the Deepsmen Fortress Cities and had come to the conclusion that the Deepsmen that they were aware of Space Marine forces. They had increased their patrols considerably and began ramping up defenses of their homes, particularly that of the Fortress City of Carsaj.

It had been deemed that Carsaj would need to be struck before it became more of a considerable threat. The Carsaji Dams, massive and ancient hydoelectric dams, contained the Saji Lake. It had been almost child’s play for the Raiders to kill the Carsaji Deepsmen that guarded the dam. And place charges throughout the entire structure.

He had withdrawn his forces from the heights overlooking the Saji Lake, and the city below it. It glittered like a jewel in the night, back-dropped by jungle stretching from horizon to horizon, the lazy Saji river wandering down, through the city, and out into the green depths. He spent a moment savoring the scenery, regretting that it had come to this. But his fellow Raiders were waiting, arrayed around him. He lifted the trigger on the detonation device and pulled the trigger.

---

Long had Apothecary Kharius and Chaplain Olest worked hard with the D’gavi, the elected monarch of Carjai to accept his squad into the city, by proving trusting by healing the many ailments that afflicted the Deepsmen, mostly terrible fungus that arose from the Deeps. Eventually D’gavi Xaros had allowed the squad to into his city. And long into the night, surrounded by hundreds of the Deepsmen Guard, did Kharius and Olest, alternating between them, explained the glory of the Imperium and what awaited for those who chose to welcome the Imperium with open arms.

As the night darkened to it’s blackest, the D’gavi seemed to have been satisfied with his answer. He bid the Hospitallers welcome in his city, but for the moment confined to the Inner City. The Inner City in question included the D’gavi’s palace and the central keep. It was in the central keep where Kharius’ squad awaited, eleven warriors in their streamlined power armor and their healing hands. It was a strange dichotomy. Warriors they were, but their Gene-Father had professed the need for healing.

It was their Gene-Father, with the rest of the squad, that awaited the return of his Apothecary and Chaplain. As both absent warriors returned to the chambers sequestered for the Hospitallers, Remigius was hunched over a human, stricken with the Agavian Rot, a virulent parasite that devoured the tissues connecting skin to bone. Those people stricken had their skin slacken from their bones, covered in disfiguring red warts that made them pariahs in society, despite the fact that the Rot was noncontagious.

The rest of the squad was busy with armor and weapon checks. They had become inured to the miracle of Remigius’ healing, having witnessed it dozens -hundreds- of times.Especially after Remigius had done so much to downplay it. The Apothecaries of the Legion remained fascinated though, Kharius closing in to watch his Primarch at work. As Kharius watched, Remigius trailed his hands over the frail form of the elderly woman, a warm glow emitting from his palms to suffuse the woman’s body. The red, slowly pulsating warts faded away to leave behind unmarked skin. The woman’s face, clenched in pain even in an induced coma, slowly eased and the woman smiled in her sleep.

When Remigius was satisfied with the woman’s condition, he turned away from the woman to eye his Apothecary, a question mark of his face. Kharius spoke quickly, in the field there was no need for formalities,”Their leader seems more than willing to aid Imperial forces once they arrive here, Remigius. Some of his officers seem more reluctant but after healing so many of their sick and elderly, I think they are in the minority.”

“Good, Kharius.” The chambers the Hospitallers had been gifted were in the middle tier of the West Tower in the central keep. A large balcony overlooked the city and the Jagged Mountains. It was to here that Remigius stepped towards after noticing something mottled and lightning fast slink off into the night. He hadn’t seen enough of it to be sure, surmising that it had only been some sort of beast that called this strange world home. Kharius followed him out on to the balcony.”Any word of our brother Legionnaires?”

“Nothing, Lord Pri-” Kharius was interrupted by several distant booms. Bot Space Marine and Primarch looked out into the distance. With their enhanced sight, they could see the wall of water rushing in an unstoppable tide towards the city, the Saji Lake once more free in the first time in centuries. There was no running from it. The gunship that had inserted the Hospitallers squad was long gone. Not even the powerful Astartes would be able to flee in time. All they could do was watch as the massive wave crashed into the Fortress City of Carsaj.

---

Vox chatter from Legions not their own alerted Orsino and his squad to the grave mistake they had made. Descending from the heights of the Jagged Mountains, they entered the ruined city of Carsaj to find it in shambles. The tidal wave had swept away the walls of the Fortress City, multi-ton blocks of granite and stone lifted like child’s toys and slammed into the city. All that was left of the once proud city of Carsaj was the central keep and half the Palace. Even as Orsino and his squad traversed the drowned and broken streets of Carsaj, the central keep collapsed in on itself.

When the Raiders closed in on the central keep, or where it had stood, they found half a squad of Hospitallers working to ply stones the sizes of boulders from the keep. From the chatter on the vox, none of the Raiders were ignorant as to the purpose of the Hospitallers. More than half the squad laid beneath the stones. In this case the streamlined armor of the Hospitallers had proved especially detrimental to surviving what had just occurred.

Without an order from Orsino, the Raiders closed in to help their brethen. As they did so though, one Legionnaire, more massive than the others, took a stone slab several tons in weight and lifted it. The Legionnaire threw it like it weighed nothing, to send it crashing several feet away. The Hospitaller turned around and unclasped his helmet to reveal the face of the Primarch himself, Remigius. The Raiders halted in their tracks, unsure what to do.

Remigius answered for them.”You will answer for your crimes.” He growled, wrath contorting Remigius’ face in a rictus of pain, grief, and rage.

Dolgota
Artillery Depot 5, Solusi Camp
720.000.M31

The Destruction of Depot 5

Infiltrating the Depot had been absurdly easy for the Night Stalkers. While the devastator squad led by Sergeant Aphael had come down from the hills surrounding the depot to infiltrate the Northeast quadrant. Their opinion of the Scorched, the Auxilia that often followed the Blades of Solus into combat, was sorely tested. When they had been satisfied that the amount of patrols in the sector were few enough, they alerted the terminator squad led by First Sergeant Barquiel to move forward.

The terminators filted into the hole in the Depot’s defenses, shadows upon moonlight, almost all but silent in their armor. First Sergeant Barquiel was satisifed with how the two squads of Night Stalkers were operating. So far they had zero contact with any Scorched guards. Which was somewhat odd but after hearing how they came from a world to have a Primarch like Coracus, well. The bar had been low from the start.

What Barquiel and the Space Marines did not know was that a team of Striking Scorpions, led by the powerful Exarch Kalladaros, had used knives hand-to-hand to overwhelm and overpower the guards. With that objective attained Kalladaros had his Eldar set about placing small charges throughout the Seventh Quadrant in the Depot. The blood of the enemy had been spilled, on the very world that the Princes of Dolgota had been arrogant enough to think that they were destined. Before the Orks had descended upon them.

While they ad been dying none of them had though to ask why the Orks had chosen their world. Only Kalladaros and few others knew the answer to that. Prince Calthanir had long been at work to lay the groundwork for the destruction of the Imperium. With the Striking Scorpions and their work at Depot 5, they buried the seeds of annihilation to be reaped when the Imperium dared trespass against the Aeldari.

Barquil and Aphael’s squads made into a few dozen feet into the Depot itself. Using timed explosions starting with the largest, the Striking Scorpions had set their charges in such a way as to make it appear an accident. Indeed, after the first charge, only two others were needed to reach the necessary blast pressures to detonate the shells stacked so precariously throughout the Depot. Barquiel and Aphael had only a moment to watch the wall of fire come out of the Night and swallow them.

They were killed quickly, the Devastor Marines. The Terminators, however were cooked. The sounds of their deaths would rattle through the vox links of every Night Stalker in the System, in a day forever known afterwards as the Night of Burning.

Early investigations carried out by the 5th Primarch would yield little evidence, the Striking Scorpions had stressed not leaving evidence of their passing. Even the charges they had used had been Imperial equipment, something that had not gone over well for the Aspect Warriors if the Prince’s words had not convinced the Exarch of the need to do as such.

Because of this the explosion is explained as an unfortunate safety breach. The Scorched were banned from serving beside the Night Stalkers. While relationships between the 3rd and 13th Primarchs could never had been called cordial, afterwards it became absolutely icy. Things were further exacerbated when it was discovered that the gene-seed of the fallen Night Stalkers could not be retrieved, further salting the wound many Night Stalkers would feel could be laid directly at the feet of the Blades of Solus and the Scorched Auxilia.

Dolgota
The Tower of Primarchs
840.000.M31

The War to Come

Dolgota had been made into a Fortress World to be, perhaps, only eclipsed by Holy Terra herself. The Emperor’s Shield, those Primarchs and Legions devoted the most to fortification and defense of all the Emperor’s Children, had worked day and night to change the landscape of Dolgota to be worthy of the upcoming Crusade. The mountains of Dolgota had been turned into massive supply depots and fortresses by the might of the Imperial Wardens. Meanwhile, the cities that once dominated the world of Dolgota were repurposed by the Iron Sentinels and Emperor’s Talons. The cities would once more serve as homes for the colonizers that arrived from throughout the Imperium. The Hospitallers had set about improving the transportation hubs between the mountains and the Forge Complexes being carved out from around the wilderness’ surrounding the cities by the Adeptus Mechanicus.

In space, the 20th and 9th Legions had been hard at work as well. The 20th had perfected logistics into the system, moving the quadrillions of tons of supplies and materiel at an efficient, lightning fast pace. The Ninth Legion, void based entirely, had been tasked with building the orbital defenses of the system. With generous aid from the Adeptus Mechanicus the solitary moon of Dolgta, so reminiscent of Luna in it’s desolation and lack of atmosphere, would serve in much the same capacity as Luna did for Terra with the added caveat that Dolgos would also be an orbital shipyard.

The Imperium’s efforts in taking the Ishariel Sector had not been purely from a logistical and defensive standpoint. Brave men from the Obsidian Warriors, Molten Sons, Hospitallers, and many others had sent scouting forces into the Ishariel Sector. Their reports spoke of the largest single concentration of Aeldari ever encountered by the Imperium with each world in the Sector boasting formidable forces made away of the impending arrival of the Imperium. When the full force of the Crusade fell upon the Sector, each world promised to be a bloodbath for Imperial forces.

The stratagem that had been chosen by the Primarchs had been simple, but effective in it’s brutality. The Imperium’s combined forces would be divided into four main offensives.

Operation March would be leaving immediately, consisting of warriors of the Fallen Angels, Obsidian Warriors, and Night Stalkers. They would approach the Sector from above the plane to fall upon the rear of the Sector and thus knock in the backdoor of the defenses prepared to meet the Aeldari. While they consisted of the smallest contingent of Space Marines, the void fleets attached to the Offensive would be the second largest of the four offensives planned.

The second thrust would be consisting of Operation Trident. It was here the full weight of the Crusade would fall, tens of millions of Imperial soldiers, the largest Imperial armada ever assembled, and the Azure Rain, Imperial Wardens, Iron Sentinels, and Molten Sons being led personally by the Emperor himself. They would target the crown world of the sector, Ishariel herself. In the act, they only had to destroy the heavily modified and dangerous Onyx Citadels that guarded her jealously.

Anvil Task Force would be the second to last to leave, traveling slightly below it’s brother task force, Hammer. While Hammer, with the Night Haunters, Sons of Calmora, Blades of Solus, and Hospitallers smashed into the world of Halathel, most of Anvil would take Mirienh. Anvil would split in two. Most of the Lightning Bearers, Penitent Sons, and Emperor’s Talons would take Mirienh. However, it had been deemed that Duro might provide reinforcements to either Mirienh or Halathel. To stop this from happening the Sun Angels, along with elements of the Lightning Bearers, would keep any forces on Duro from helping their kin.

---

Most of the Primarchs had gathered upon the top of the newly renamed Tower of Primarchs, the tallest Spire in the city of Elyria, named

such in honor of one of the Primarchs that had taken the world of Dolgota. They watched as the massive transports, warships, and picket ships of Operation March dipped into the upper atmosphere of Dolgota in honor of the Emperor that stood among his Sons and Daughter. Since the inception of the Ishariel Crusade had been called for, the Emperor had not made a single appearance, preferring to remain on Bucephalus and denying any requests for an audience. Only now, upon the sight of the first ships leaving to carry the wrath of the Imperium into the Sector, did the Emperor show his face. Resplendent in golden armor, the Emperor stood against the massive balcony constructed for just an event, hands gripping the balustrade lightly as the Imperial Navy passed overhead.

Below the Tower, ten million of the vaunted Solar Auxilia stood in serried ranks, each soldier in the shining panoply of war A massive square, laid with the finest white marble that could be found, stretched out into the horizon. The Emperor’s Square, as it would be called. Not a single white stone could be seen. Among them, giants in power armor represented the Legions of the Space Marines, so many gathered in one place. Not since the inception of the Astartes could it be said that so many of their number had stood in one place.

Surrounding the ten million Auxilia and hundred thousand representatives of the Astartes were millions more civilians. Most of them were indentured servants of the Adeptus Mechanicum, the lowest adepts necessary to run the Forges even now bellowing as they prepared to meet the demands of the Ishariel Crusade. However, a sizable minority were colonizers, sent to make a home of Dolgota and her new shining cities. While the Forges would represent the mind of Dolgota, the cities would be it’s heart.

Aboard their flagships, Oberon, Miztli, and Mercaekha would be brooding on what came next. A long, hazardous journey of almost three months warp travel to take the world of Oelil and it’s remote system. Their battleships had already made their procession first, hours ago. Meanwhile, on the Tower of Primarchs, the Emperor was surrounded by his remaining children, remaining as inscrutable as he ever was. He had said only a handful of words to the gathered Primarchs, and even fewer to the Primarchs already gone.

The procession of ships would continue for hours more, but the Emperor was no longer concerned with such. He turned around the face his Sons and Daughter, giving each of them a look before he settled on one of them. When he spoke, it was with the fluid timbre of both power and weight of bearing that had driven worlds to bow to him by words alone.”Cyprig. Step forth.”

[Antimersia]

Cyprig

Cyprig stood atop the Tower of Primarchs, his hands crossed behind his back and his crooked smile spread wide across his face as he see the fruits of his labors. The smooth exit of well supplied ships towards operation March. Cyprig was glad the Father had arrived to see that, even with several bumps along the way, Cyprig and his siblings were masterfully skilled and efficient in the tasks laid before them. He was confident that this crusade would be a resounding success. And He believed that the Father would see this too, in all his wisdom.

Cyprig was surprised when he was the first called upon as the Father stood with him and most of his siblings. He expected Icarion, or Vasilia to be his preferred conversation partner on almost any occasion. So if Cyprig were singled out first, it must be for a reason of great importance. The thought brought Cyprig to a more serious and measured expression. He quickly strides forward, past his siblings and stood before the Emperor. He knelt to one knee and bowed his head as a show of respect. One that he was not sure the Father would be expecting, but one that he felt better offering either way.

"I am at your command, Father." Cyprig says with a strong conviction in his tone, awaiting the Emperor's words.

[Imperialisium]

077.000.M31
Aboard the Aeterna

The Sanguine Court was both a place and an informal name. It was the name of a room lined with various motifs and trophies that Vasilisa had collected over the years. The carpet and enamel on the walls decorated in crimson. While glow globes hung, dimmed to a comfortable setting, from small baroque chandeliers spaced evenly throughout. The informality of the name was due to it not being an official body within the 5th Legion or the government of the Solarian Hegemony that ran The Hundred Systems. It was a place for members regardless of rank that held favour with the Primarch of the 5th Legion to receive orders deemed unorthodox enough to be said in the confidence of handpicked few. For operations best kept off the books and for counsel that some would find most ungainly in a formal setting. Vasilisa herself sat at the head of a nalwood table stained solid black and cut also in a baroque style with various fluting, flower motifs, and lion feet legs. She did not wear her armour, rather, she wore a simple silk robe of scarlet colouring. Her hair done up in a long snow white braid. Seating casually in her chair. Around her were Astartes and Humans that made up the Court's current members. Even a couple Mechanicum adepts in their red robes were present. Whether they counted as part of the 'Human' contingent one could debate.

A small holo-lith flickered to life. Not entirely dissimilar to the one that had been in the Tower of the Primarchs on Dolgota below them when she had the brief impromptu strategium meetings with some siblings present. A Fleet officer, Master of the Fleet Krisztoff von Tisza und zu Solaire, and commander of the 13th Expeditionary Fleet held a holo-slate.

"As of 076.000.M31 the 13th Expeditionary Fleet elements are ready to make for Warp for our target systems of Mirienh and Duro." Nods from around the table as the older Solarian man continued speaking, "Additionally, as per your request, I have dispatched the Escort Purity Blade to Mars with the orders you have since written regarding political pressure to receive Mark IV suits from Mars." Nods from a few of the Astartes on this report.

Vasilisa spoke, changing the subject, "I wish to send an Evocatus mission to shadow my siblings." The court looked at the Primarch as she leaned forward and pressed a thumb onto a reader. A purple code popped up giving Magenta-Level authorization to the holo-lith.

"A small Evocatus team will shadow Imperial elements and report directly back to me on the dispositions of my siblings forces from afar." Spying on other Primarchs legions was not entirely new to the 5th Legion or exclusive to them. Vasilisa had no doubt that her brothers had agents embedded in the 13th Expeditionary Fleet. She smiled at the notion that she expected it as such without question. An Astartes in a drab tunic replied smoothly, "I have already allocated Evocatii in parallel with our Euthanatoi deployments."

"Excellent." said Vasilisa as she leaned back in her chair at the information of the mission she had orchestrated over the past few solar days scrawl upwards.


Syph
Fortress City of Carsaj

The Nova-Class Escort ship Xenophon had dropped out of warp transit approximately six million kilometers to starboard of the Hospitallers and other Imperial ships that had made for Syph many solar days prior. Its Chameololine painted hull and build utilizing STC blueprints found in the Hegemony, and retained by the 5th Legion, mirrored that of the Legions use of smaller craft like Shadowhawks and Whispercutters. Stealth craft that Vasilisa had long seen the benefit of in conducting operations best left unnoticed or off the books. Operations that worked best when you wanted no one else to know you're there. Indeed, to the Imperial ships the Xenophon was shadowing their auguries would report nothing. Their visuals scopes equally showing just the blackness of the void and the light of distant stars spread like a billion pinpricks. The gaseous clouds of the Phyrgian Nebula rearing up like a massive thunderhead of blues, purples, and orange. This technology of course did render the slip slower than others of its class when active in order to maintain the illusion.

Thus, it stalked behind the Imperial ship formations until it peeled off to conduct its purpose. In a shallow arc the Escort skirting near the planet itself and from a small hangar emerged a corvette that also utilized the stealth technologies of the Xenophon. The corvette moving rapidly on the opposite side of the planet's upper atmosphere before back tracking over the course of many hours until it was near Carsaj. Maneuvering slowly and cautiously in a circuitous route to avoid auspex pick up as it skimmed above the surface to a stop and release a pair of power armoured individuals bearing no insignia on their armour. Just the Imperial Aquila upon their chest plates and pauldrons. A pair of Evocatii that soon vanished into the underbrush. Their armour adjusted by select Techmarines to be silent. Chameoline cloaks draped them and each while carring a bolter maglocked to their left thighs also hefted Astartes M40/A1 Pattern Sniper rifles. Their utility equipment also boasting an exotic assortment of bolt shells as they moved into the jungle. The corvette long gone as it returned to the Xenophon.

553.000.M31

Watching the efforts of Remigius Hospitallers from afar were a duo on a mountainous rise of jungle canopy and steep ridge lines. One laid prone and peered, as it where given he wore a helmet, through the scope of his sniper rifle. Alternating between various persons of interest as he observed the events. The second was slightly more to the back and fiddling with a square device that bore a small antenna. The second was listening to Legion vox chatter in real time using Legion command codes. The second Astartes leaned forward reflexively just as a large crash was heard in the distance. Followed by a rumble and the first Astartes quickly shifting aim to look at hte oncoming tidal wave of water.

The vox traffic picking up considerably as the events unfolded below and before them. The second Astartes wasting no time in typing a series of codes while the first pulled out a small camera device and began recording after the second affixed a thin cable to the port sockets of the devices. We have stable uplink to Xenophon. End to end encryption established. Transmitting in real time.

787.000.M31

The horrendous accident at Depot 5 was as much a shock as thoroughly investigated. Primarch Vasilisa herself scrutinizing the debris and scene of the 'accident.' But whatever had occurred there was little to no evidence. In fact, it seemed entirely by haphazard accident. A freak accident even. There were no traces that scans, visual scrutinizing, camera checks and sentry questioning had gleaned. It was almost too perfect and that did not set well with the Primarch of the 5th Legion. But she had no leads...

801.000.M31

Vasilisa Sanguina was resplendent in her purple armour. Her beauty only matched by the majesty of the events around her. By the golden aura of the Emperor of Mankind near her. The golden, silver, and bronze gilding of her power armour shone in the light as she peered down at the vast assortment of Imperial might down below. Millions of soldiers, thousands upon thousands of Space Marines, dozens of starships and hundreds of attack craft lighting up the sky. It was awe inspiring to behold. When the Emperor spoke, she could not help but look over and transfix her gaze upon Cyprig. Well this is unexpected.

[Ameriganastan]

Coming before his father tended to humble the belligerent Coracus. His usual wisecracks and haughty smirk replaced with a look of intimidated obedience. His armor has been buffed and polished to a fine shine by the serfs on board his ship. Even his bald head looked polished, waxed to a near mirror shine by the man himself. His thoughts however were elsewhere...

Several weeks prior
"They dare blame my Auxilla for this?!"

Coracus paced in his quarters on-board the Desert Scimitar, reading over the report of the depot 5 incident with extreme annoyance.

"That highborn, spoiled, self-serving coward dares blame my soldiers for his error, and has the further nerve to ban them from serving side by side again? I'll wring his neck next time I see him! Even Father won't be able to save his worthless hide!"

A small cough echoed through the chamber. In his rage. Coracus had almost forgotten his loyal #2, Tarax Gadriel, had brought him said report.

"If I might interject my Lord, I would advise against attempting to kill your brother. I imagine the other Primarchs and your Father would find that...disagreeable."

Coracus punched the wall, leaving a sizable dent.

"I'm not taking this lying down, Gadriel. That brother of mine. He dares accuse my soldiers of making the error. He dares accuse me of anything when he's the one who had an entire Company refuse to fight. If any of my Astartes dared to try that, I'd rip their gene-seeds out and flush them out the nearest airlock."

Though he hid it well before his brothers and sister behind his joking personality, Coracus was prone to rage. Conquering an entire death world in revenge tended to leave one with an explosive temper.

"Then prove your superiority in combat, my Lord. We are your Blades of Solus. The reapers from beneath the twin suns. And you are the mighty Coracus. Conqueror of Necro Solus. What would a soft-raised man like him know of proper combat anyway? Prove during this campaign who is truly the superior of you two."

Coracus took a deep breath, coming down from his spot of rage.

"Very well. I'll show this fool up at every turn. My conquests during this campaign will make his look like nothing. He'll rue the day he made a mockery of me like this."

Present time, the Tower of the Primarchs

Of course the coward found a convenient excuse to not be here before me today. He and his Legion of weaklings are probably making sure their white flag is nice and clean for their inevitable defeat.

He managed to focus when his Father called...

Cyprig? What does Father want with him? Maybe he'll finally order him to lighten up a touch...

[Drumon]

Sometime Earlier

Sweet Emperor above!

The Primarch resisted screaming. The torture device was sending pulsating electrical shocks through his body. Rhythmically calculated to strike right after adrenaline injection off, but before the nerves had fully recovered. The ampage would kill a human in seconds, and even a space marine could barely last five minutes.

Zahariel had sat there for 30.

To him, it could barely be described as pain anymore. It was a reminder he was alive. So many millions dead, many by his hand, but it was HE that lives. The toxins were nothing by comparison; a child's plaything compared to what the mechanical could unleash when setfree.

Even the Eldar had techniques he had grasped - legends from their fallen empire. He had sought them out, but to no avail - something he looked forward to discovering in the future.

He could-

"Aaaugh!"

Zahariel screamed out. That was it - that was the last straw. Screaming was a sign of weakness to his legionaries, he had to be set free.

Present Day

Zahariel looked with amusement as the Emperor called out Cyprig. A rare event, but one that made him nonetheless pleased - a hopeful sign of the vengeance that would be unleashed in future campaigns.

Zahariel waited with baited breath.

[Endem]

Nikolai Szaraczkiewicz
Memory

He well remembered the fateful night a few months ago on Dolgota, when one of his marines brought him a message from the astropath, a grave message, all Neophytes, killed, they couldn't even defend themselves and along with them his trusted marine Casimir, a great teacher and one of the first Iron Sentinels, nearly all of the marines in his legion once had Casimir as their teacher, thus his death impacted them all.

During the first month, or perhaps it was two, however long it was, it was painfully long, during which Nikolai issued but one order "Follow the orders of Remigius, Napoli and Titus until further notice" to his marines and secluded himself in his private chambers aboard the Glorina Battlecruiser "Tchaikovsky", in his room a new memento now stood on a shelf, the bolt pistol Casimir had as his only weapon when he died.

During this time he had become catatonic, not moving for many solar days, eating and drinking scarcely, but most importantly during that time, Nikolai was basically a psychological wreck, many times he harmed himself as a wrongly placed retribution for the Neophytes death, after that he spent many days only writing the names of the dead, after which it was done he copied into a book, soon Eldar will suffer tenfold for each Neophyte they killed.

But most important was the night when he needed to wrestle the spirit of the past, a restless reminder of all his failures, in his head he could clearly hear the voice of his dearest brother Andrei, wrathful and seeking revenge for Nikolai's misdeed, for the string of actions and consequences that lead to Andrei's demise, and behind Andrei followed each ghost of the dead that became such out of Nikolai's action or inaction, and their distorted faces and mangled bodies he could clearly see before him, parading, displaying the full grotesque that resulted out of Nikolai's failure, before assaulting Nikolai in search of vengeance, Nikolai managed to wrestle and kill again each one of them, a action needed for that man, but a action that tripled his suffering, and Nikolai could only ask if this happened in the material world or in his own mind.

However, out of all suffering he endured, he came out of his chamber a more polished man, a unyielding leader, a tireless soldier, a determined builder and many more, and each of the sufferings he endured he now has channeled into preparing the campaign, and like a spring about to break, this suffering refined into wrath shall be unleashed onto Eldar, they will soon learn what retribution means, they will soon learn the smell of blood, they will feel the fires that will rage from the rubbles of their cities, and will soon know the taste of groundddddd under which they will be buried, for each Neophyte killed tens of Aeldari will suffer.

The Primarch's Spire

And now on the eve of crusade, all that was left was to wait, and soon the collective might of the Imperium will be unleashed upon the despicable Eldar, and their vile prince, but just before that could happen the shining light of the Emperor needed to pour onto his soldiers, and Emperor's eyes to lay upon his armies once again, and then the Emperor, father of each Primarch gathered in the tower, called for Cyprig, Nikolai stood unfazed, his ever mourning mask not giving away any emotions, waiting, as the anger brooded within, as wrath boiled, and vengeance waiting for her time.

[Segmentia]

Titus Ironborn

The past few months had been a flurry of activity across Dolgota, with multiple legions throwing themselves at the reconstruction of cities, the building of supply depots and Imperial Army bases, and the Imperial Wardens creating some of the finest fortresses they had ever built, several carved out of the very mountains themselves. Titus had mostly supervised from afar, wanting to let his Legion get familiarized with working with other legions, especially his officers. To say that the Imperial Wardens had been revitalized would be an understatement, both from the prospect of going on campaign again as well as working with their brother legions. Though that wasn't to say Titus had been idle. He had been busy shoring up the Wardens formations, making adjustments to companies as they were needed now that more urgent work started to temper his legion. The Bulwark and the rest of the fleet had been run through a shakedown run to prepare itself, and the Voln Second Army Group had been brought in full, where Lord Commander Zvite had also been doing his own work. The Aeldari had made several small attacks against the forces of the Imperium, reaffirming Titus' personal belief that they were walking into a trap, but there was little he could do about it except remain vigilant.

As he stood there with most of his siblings, and the Emperor himself, Titus observed the grand assembly of forces gathered before the Primarchs Spire, such a vast assembly of might was awe inspiring and most would doubt that any foe could hope to stand before the forces of the Emperor, but the Aeldari were no ordinary foe and Titus continued to suspect that this was exactly what they had wanted to happen, as he had confessed to Icarion aboard the Bulwark. When the Emperor turned and took each of the Primarchs in his gaze Titus couldn't help but feel the continued shame of his failure, to the Emperor and to his Legion. It was a surprise when the Emperor called forth Cyprig, and Titus waited to see what honor or shame the Emperor would lay down.

[Kyavan]

Primarch Oberon Gothicus
IX Legion "Fallen Angels"

The Repentia

Oberon's tortured screams of rage and hatred echoed through his spartan forge and chambers. The Primarch had retired to his quarters upon hearing the news about Gaius. His weeping and curses could be heard above the din of the forge. Punctuated by the pounding of steel on steel, the Black Chaplain and his legion had been observing the Ritual of Vengeance for days. Only essential personnel were exempt to keep the fleet on course as they left Dolgota.

Sweat poured off of Oberon's body in torrents as the great forge billowed with ethereal fire. His long flowing golden hair was mated down and ratty. His misty grey eyes had been hardened by the hatred and loss. His once slumped shoulders were now drawn back, as if a great weight had been lifted off the Primarch's back. It was quite the opposite however; The loss of the Symphony and Consul Gaius had shattered an pretension of normality in Oberon and his son's mental state. The weight of almost three centuries of loss and pain had shattered Oberon's mind and the minds of the Fallen. They were now and forever more, a legion of fallen and broken angels.

There was a billow of flame and Oberon shut off the fires. Laying smoking before him where the arcane weapons The Fists Of God but there was one major alteration, the two giant boltguns welded onto the bottoms of them. Oberon had named them The Twin Symphonies of Wrath and Fury. Leaving them to cool, Oberon went to go check on the modifications to his armor. The jet black suite of armor had the name of every Fallen Angel to die on the battlefield painstakingly etched into it. On the cross painted to his right pauldron there was but one name written. Gaius. Oberon gave an approving nod to the artificers and returned to his meditation chamber. He kneeled down before the towering statue of his father and drifted into the empyreen.

Oberon awoke in a strange crystal room. Before him sat an Eldar farseer clad in the black and purple of Suul-Jan. A snarl of rage escaped Oberon's lips and tried to stand. His body would not cooperate and the farseer and turned their attention to him. Oberon managed to rise and stagger a few paces towards the xeno witch. She raised her hand and Oberon was forced into a sitting position, like a puppet of sorts. Oberon grit his teeth and rose again.

"Sit son of the Emperor. We have much to discus." The room’s gravity grew heavier and Oberon was forced to his knees,.

"How are you here? We destroyed your planet-ship and burned your fleet.” He growled

"I escaped along with a few others. After I met you in the infinity circuit."

"What did you do to me" Oberon spat

"Set up a backdoor into your mind, in case we ever needed to speak like this."

"Why would we need to speak xeno? Can you not see our people are at war?"

"I do see that. But I can also see that you are not like your siblings."

"Quit speaking in riddles, I have much to prepare for."

"You have lived and lost more than any of them. You have lived the life of the Aeldari, not the life of the Primarchs."

Oberon's heart skipped a beat, "Do not toy with me witch, what do you mean?" He barked.

"Your fate is different from the others, you have lost too much to become close to anyone. You walk the path of loss and redemption, you walk the path of the Aeldari."

"I am a sworn executioner of the Emperor's will. I will avenge my sons and I will snap your spine like I did that Wraithlord decades ago. We will meet on the battlefield witch. You were right about one thing, I am not like my siblings. They have not been shattered as I have. With great pain, comes great purpose. And my pain, gifts me the resolve to tear the head of every Eldar from their f*cking necks. The Fallen Angels come to the gulf and you will meet your end there." Oberon spat. How dare this witch enter his mind! How dare she infringe on his conscious. His rage had been a raging blue fire, this meeting had morphed it into a tempered white flame. Oberon's thoughts were clear for the first time in days, it was liberating.

"Mon-keigh filth."

[Theyra]

Miztli Huitzilihuitl
Kalramia's Sword

Miztli was not bothered that he would be missing a chance to be with the Emperor, his father. He thought as his fleet moved away from Dolgota and started their three-month journey to Oelil System. Plenty of time to practice his melee abilities and watch his men practice. Miztli had retreated to his quarters, to gather his thoughts and read some old books from Kalramia, his homeworld. Though he has read these books a thousand times, he still enjoys them and his favorite was a book about astronomy. Miztli when he was younger and before the death of his parents, he always like to look up at the night sky and wonder about things. Like what is out there among the stars and he always tried to spot as many of the constellations that he could. Miztli sighed as nostalgia hit him, remembering a happier time in his life. Then the pale reality started to snap back to him as he put the book down and back on the shelf.

There was an old feeling that Miztli has about how he feels about the Emperor. That something that he does not want to talk about with his siblings. He does not have a close relationship with any of them and he does not know if he can trust them with this. So it will stay a secret and most likely a secret he will take to the grave. Which Miztli is fine with though he wonders how his siblings feel about their father. It was clear how Napoli feels, always wanting his attention and praise. Miztli shook his head in annoyance, he can not understand why Napoli wants it. The Emperor is not..., Miztli sighed. Perhaps it is best not to think about that secret for now.

A knock at his door got his attention and he spoke loudly, "Enter".

It was Youn, "I hope I am not interrupting my Primarch".

"You are not Youn, in fact I was just about to leave, what is on your mind?

"Oh, I just wanted to let you know their the sparring matches have started and I wanted to know if you wished to watch".

Miztli smiled, "I would like to watch our warriors fight. Nothing like a friendly competition to foster brotherhood and keep our skills sharp".

"I am glad you said that and let's make our way to the sparring room then".

"You lead I will follow Youn", and the two left the room and headed down to the sparring room. In the back of the Miztli, he was glad there was a break during the three months of travel, to properly wind down before a proper battle. These Eldar do not have a chance though he would enjoy a good battle again. It has been a while since he had a good battle, this time he will not be alone and share the glory with his brothers. That he is looking towards despite not having close relations with Oberon or Mercaekha. Well, time to relax for a bit and prepare for the coming battle.

[Northern Poland]

Mercaekha Taristus

Weeks Prior

Mercaekha sat at his throne, in complete silence of what had just been laid out to him. Indeed, he had heard the vox-cries of the Terminator squad, what a horrid fate. "That fool Coracus, his laziness resulted in the loss of two Veteran squads. With the presumed loss of dozens of his own soldiers. His Auxilia shall not serve anywhere near my Legion or Auxilia."

Sachiel nodded in agreement, "Yes My Lord, I will inform our Laison officer."

Sachiel exited the room, and Mercaekha moved to the center of the room and began to meditate. This was a loss to the Legion, especially the Terminator Squad. They would need to replace these gaps, and bring in more reserves. In the Deep bowls of the Gloriana Class Battleship, Engravings of the dead Marines, Names, Ranks, and campaigns where inscribed on the Great wall of lost souls. There were hundreds if not thousands of these inscriptions, all marines of the III legion.


While this was going on, Planetary invasion exercises where being carried out in system, with the Imperalis Armada running 24/7 Dropship landings, with thousands of Auxilia practicing landing, taking initial objectives, and establishing a FOB. This was done with the other legions, coordinating deployments, targets, defenders and attackers, the likes. Mercaekha led some of these landings personally, along with his famed 1st Company, marching forward in terminator armor.


Whilst this was going on, a fleet of recon ships departed from the orbit of Dolgata, made up of a Single Cruiser, alongside around a dozen smaller Frigates. They would communicate back to the main fleet once they arrived in the system, telling them about defenses, ships in the region, and maybe land forward recon elements on the planet itself.
Modern Day
Armada Personnel scrambled along, preparing the fleet for its deployment, with tech-priests assisting where needed. Astartes prepared weapons, meditated, or trained with comrades. The Millions of Auxilia, normal Mortals, were playing cards with fellow soldiers, drinking their rations away and preparing for the battle ahead. Many where new conscripts from a multitude of words, but the Solar Auxilia where professionals, they somewhat indulged in these activities, but for the most part, trained for the upcoming battle, and preparing weapons. Tanks sat in rows, near transport shuttles, ready to be dropped from orbit.

It smelled like oil in the transport ships, as thousands of vehicles sat in rows upon rows, with Servitors maintaining them, and tank crews absent for the most part, aside from Morning and afternoon role call. The fleet was mostly made up of Auxiliary vessels, with the Astartes vessels forming the vanguard of the fleet, with the Auxiliary ships being the rear and center, the Gloriana Class Battleship was in the lead, surrounded by it's personal squadron.


Mercaekha stared down at Dolgata from his throne room, as the remaining legions fleets circled the planet, and wished he could participate in the huge rally on the planet below. His brothers and sister were having a private conference with the Emperor, and he and his brothers had missed out. No matter, they held one of the most important roles, they would be the first attack into the system and would lead the charge. He was looking forward to this, no doubt.

[Skaldia]

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

The Rakurai 2nd Fleet was an awe inspiring sight. Nearly seventy ships of the line and countless escorts, clippers, and messenger ships presented more than twenty percent of the entire Navy for the 1st Legion and the Madrigal Co-Prosperity Sphere and it had come at the call of the First Primarch. As Icarion watched, from the Palace of Primarchs, the Shogun-Class Battleship the Storm Unbound began it's procession through the upper atmosphere. Icarion knew that it was an incredibly dangerous maneuver for a ship as massive as an Imperial battleship, but appearances must be maintained. And the Lord Admiral of the 2nd Fleet was one of the best Lord Admirals in the entire Imperialis Armada.

With the 2nd Fleet had come three million men and women of the Rakurai Armed Forces, composed of three entire Crusades that would take the fight to Mirienh. The Rakurai Auxilia were one of the best army units in the galaxy, or at least in the opinion of Icarion. Despite the dark portents he sensed around the upcoming Crusade, he was eager to show their strength to his Brothers and Sister, as well as that of the Rakurai Auxilia Navy.

It wasn't just the mortal armies that Icarion had brought to bear. Twenty six Maniples of the 1st Legion, nearly the entire strength of the Legion, had been called to this world. Indeed, two Maniples of the 1st Legion stood in parade on the Emperor's Square, their Marshals standing in front of the might of their Maniples in their resplendent and shining silver armor while the bannermen held aloft the symbol of the Lightning Bearers for all to see. Not since the Vremalkyr Incursions had so many of the 1st fought together and many of Icarion's Legionnaires were eager to cross blades with the hated Xenos. With Storm and Fury would they cleanse the Sector of all Eldar life.

All the while, Icarion would be working to undermine the Darkness he sensed waiting. And, if that meant working at cross purposes to his siblings, he would do so.

---

Prince Calthanir
Somewhere in the Ishariel Sector

The blood was nearly a half foot thick on the crystal floors. Only after he had carved the symbols and butchered dozens of the mon-keigh did he feel the ritual come together. With the death of so many of the humans in such agonizing fashion did he sense the presence of the others. With their attention, Calthanir knelt in the blood and dabbed his fingers into the quickly drying crimson muck. He brushed the blood on his forehead and cheeks and began to mutter in the dark tongue. As he did, his eyes rolled up into his head. The Chamber groaned as if under an immense weight as Calthanir cajoled the Warp to do his bidding. After the horrendous deaths of so many, and with the promise of many more to come, the Warp obliged the Eldar Prince's request.

The Corsair Princess would have the honor to blood the first Imperials to arrive seeking retribution for the destruction of the Imperial Fleets. While Calthanir made it possible for her to strike, he did not expect her to totally destroy the enemy she fought either. That had been stressed to her. Vaeldairya was to wound them, gravely if she could. And then she would hound them all the way to Oelil. It would be at Oelil that the Imperium would suffer it's first true defeat. Calthanir trusted Vaeldairya to destroy the enemy utterly. Her Red Corsairs would earn their name that day.

He had somewhere he had to be himself.

He rose from the blood, ignoring the sucking sound as the crimson tide on the beautiful crystal floor attempted to keep him glued to it's surface. He stood there for a moment, eyeing his handiwork. It was but the first such scene to commence the War to come. He had more of them to plan.

---

Icarion Anasem
Primarch of the 1st Legion, the Lightning Bearers

Icarion was happy to see his Father in the first time in years. Despite that, the Emperor had denied Icarion's repeated requests for an audience. It had been a sore blow to Icarion. He needed his Master's wisdom. Instead, he had been rebuffed. He had hoped that, once the Procession was complete, he could single out the Emperor and once more seek his counsel. The Emperor had turned around from surveying the forces arrayed before him. Those piercing eyes, containing so much knowledge and power, found each of the Primarchs gathered before him. They had settled on one of the youngest of his children, Cyprig. And then called him out.

Icarion was shocked. He had thought that this was the moment his visions had spoke of. An heir chosen. He had fully expected to be him. Despite that, he remained stoic in appearance, standing to the Emperor's furthest left so that he might be able to see a little bit of the Emperor's Square. Inside, his emotions had become tumultuous. Once more, his visions had lied to him. Or maybe they hadn't? After all, none of the prophesies he had foreseen had said that Icarion would be the one to be chosen. But why wouldn't it be Icarion? He was the First Primarch, First Found. None of his siblings could compare to the amount of battle honors and campaigns won by the Lightning Bearers. None of them possessed the foresight, strength of character, and mind that Icarion had. While he would never consider them inferior to himself, he was aware of the strengths he had that made him first among equals.

Once he thought about it though, that was not what was happening here. If any of his siblings would be Heir, it certainly would not be Cyprig of the Night Haunters.

And the Emperor seemed to share Icarion's opinion. He stared long and hard down at the Primarch kneeling before him. Icarion did not resent Cyprig's position at the moment.

"You have disappointed me enough, Twenty." The Emperor no longer called his Son by his given name, reverting once more to the number designation of Cyprig."It is not enough you desolate worlds. It is not enough that I ignore your.. experiments." The Emperor did not deign to explain what he meant by that. Although Icarion wondered just how much the Emperor actually knew."But your continued disrespect of your fellow Primarchs cannot- must not- continue."

"I am assigning Custodes to your Legion, Twenty. They will report any continued transgressions on your part. And, if they report so, make no mistake. I will chain you and drag you back to Terra to face more severe punishments."

The Emperor looked up to address his other Primarchs."The Princes that once ruled this world knew little of war. But it was not unknown to them. Before each battle, they would come together and have a fete. We shall continue that tradition. Tonight, each Primarch, officer, and commander will gather here at the Palace. We shall look each other in the eye, one more time, before we seek the battles waiting for us."

The Emperor did not say more. He had said more than any of his Primarchs had heard him say in decades. He gave them all once more a glance. The last he reserved for Cyprig, a stare that could be said to be almost disapproving. He then walked off the balcony and disappeared into the Spire, no doubt seeking the exit. Icarion could not blame the Emperor for that although he had been surprised by the censure Cyprig had just been forced to endure by their Gene Father.

As was quickly becoming the case, Icarion was once more the first to speak."Well. A party it is, brothers and sister. Let the libations flow liberally tonight for the men and women that serve us." He walked past the still kneeling form of Cyprig to take the place the Emperor had so recently vacated. What he said next was almost too quiet to hear, but his siblings would hear it nonetheless."It shall be the last pleasure any of them will have for a long time to come."

[Antimersia]

Cyprig

Cyprig stays knelt. His breath grows in rapidity and shallows. He seethes with anxiety fueled rage at the Emperor's words. Calling him 'Twenty', as if he were not worthy of his own name. It was not given to him by the Emperor, and as such Cyprig would not allow him to take it. The Emperor did not liberate Archimedaes. The Emperor did not destroy the Khrave of Tyreek 12. That was Cyprig and his legion. And he would not simply allow anyone, even the Emperor, to act as though they could take that from him. He breathed in deeply, calming his growing rage, and stood back up to his feet. He resolved that it would be the last time he knelt before the Emperor, and he cared not if the psyker he once called father could hear him think it. Even if he did now know that he was being spied on by the Emperor. There would be no other way of knowing of Cyprig's 'experiments', as he put it, if he were not being spied on.

"Initiate, Ghost Protocol." Cyprig whispers into the comm-bead built into his helmet. He then takes another deep breath, staring off into the horizon of Dolgata, contemplating his next moves.

Archem

Aboard the Arcana, the flagship of the Night Haunters, Archem stands at the helm of the ship in Cyprig's stead. He stares into the vast abyss of the void, pleased with how well his Primarch and the Haunters have managed the arrival and departure of the many ships of the legions currently on the planet. More so than anything else he is pleased by the sight of the 20th legion's auxilia that has arrived to join the fight. Ten million human soldiers prepared to fight beside the over one hundred sixty thousand space marines of the Haunters in this coming glorious crusade against the xeno threat. That pleased look on his face disappears rather rapidly though, as in his ear he hears the order sent to him from his Primarch. 'Ghost Protocol', word Archem long hoped he would never hear. He began to sweat visibly as he anxiously ran out of the bridge of the ship and down towards Cyprig's chambers.

He called down to the hangar of the Arcana as he sprinted through the ship's halls. He ordered a strike cruiser be prepared for transport in the emergency bay. A bay within the hangar with the designated purpose of bringing soldiers into the ship for immediate medical attention. A bay that anyone who know's how the Night Haunters operate, knows is never used. Instead it has been retrofitted for this particular purpose. Archem finally reaches the entrance of Cyprig's chambers within the Arcana. The key pad outside of the long decontamination hallway has three codes programmed into it. One for Cyprig's use, one for Archem, and the one Archem is inputting now. '7-7-7-7-6-6-6-7-7-7-7', the longest code of the three, and within second of being implemented the sounds of whirling gears and machinery begin to fill the ship. The entirety of Cyprig's chambers begin to move. The room, the server and preserved minds within it, all transport slowly down through the ship and are lowed as one tightly sealed and secured box down into the ship waiting in the emergency bay. As this has never been drilled before the marines and humans performing this sudden procedure take longer than Archem or Cyprig would hope, but within the hour the strike cruiser is ready to take off. Archem descends into the hanger himself and enters the strike cruiser just before it heads towards its destination, Archimedaes. The cruiser flies off into the void, entering warp travel as soon as it is safely able.

Silas Tlaloc

Silas, the Commander of the second chapter of the 20th legion, known by some as the 'Grand Librarian', sits in the magnificent library of the Arcana that he is tasked with defending and maintaining and peruses through some of the very few books that he has not read through to completion within the massive collection. He hears through his comm-bead the words 'Ghost Protocol', and calmly picks up a long fabric book mark from the table in front of him. He saves his space in the book and places it on the table as he stands. He sighs, hating having to leave the library, but his sense of duty overpowers his desires. He dons his power armor and slowly makes his way towards the bridge of the Arcana, relieving Archem of his duty of operating the ship while Cyprig is away. He has very little knowledge or care about the true purpose of the Ghost Protocol. He simply knows that Archem will be away and that it is his duty to lead the fleet. A duty he upholds proudly.

Markin Maddsla

The third chapter commander of the 20th legion is in his Hunter Destroyer, The Hellscape, when he receives the order. He as usual is training with his blade, a long curved sickle that he uses to decapitate his foes. Markin is surrounded by dozens of slaughtered and defiled training dummies that he has been practicing on for the past several hours. When he hears the words 'Ghost Protocol' he roars out with glee. His bloodlust, unquenchable, and ever present. The thoughts of a possible coming battle get him riled up. He walks over to his stored power armor and grabs the plasma cannon it is armed with and begins firing it at all of the shredded training dummies, incinerating them. He leaves the burning plasma behind for several space marines of the third chapter to snuff out as he heads to the bridge of his own ship, eager to get more orders.

Cyprig

As his commanders complete their assigned duties, Cyprig maintains and air of calm contemplation. He does not allow it to show how much his anger is driving him. He knows such a thing would undoubtedly be exploited by some of his less enjoyable fellow Primarchs should they know how angry he truly is in the moment. But the sound of a party is music to Cyprig's ears. A chance to speak to the other Primarchs he enjoys the company of, and truly begin righting the wrong just done to him. As his mind floods with possibilities, a wide, crooked smile grows on his face, one he is happy is hidden behind his helmet.

[Revlona]

Elyrian Manuxus
Elk King of the 8th Legion

A frown pierced Elyrians face as Cyprig was called before their father, his curiosity was piqued as to what this was all about. A grim sense of satisfaction overcame the Elk King as he heard his father speak, calling the twentieth primarch not his name, but by his numerical order in the Hierarchy of primarchs, twenty, the last. Elyrian had calmed down since the two of them had nearly come to blows days before, but he still quietly burned with anger at the disrespect his forced kin had shown him and with how he had no apology from it. So when Elyrian saw his chance to kick the 20th while he was down, he took it.

"Ah Twenty, you have my condolences and my pity for how that went, maybe if you weren't an insufferable bastard then it wouldn't have happened." Elyrian said to The twentieth primarch after his scolding, a gentle and friendly smile upon his face as he spoke. None of the anger that had transfixed his face in their last encounter was evident. "I forgive your transgression by the way, I'd say don't do it again but my men have orders to ignore any transmissions from your legion from now on so it won't be a problem again." He smiled at his "brother" as he awaited his response, fully expecting some lunatic ravings, a violent response, or no response at all.

He stood there bedecked in his green power armor with his helmet strapped to his hip, a mug of ale was in one hand while the other was free. He stood in a posture that spoke of his readiness for combat, though this was not out of the ordinary and was merely how he conducted himself in company of those he viewed as threats.

[Ameriganastan]

Elyrian Manuxus
Elk King of the 8th Legion

A frown pierced Elyrians face as Cyprig was called before their father, his curiosity was piqued as to what this was all about. A grim sense of satisfaction overcame the Elk King as he heard his father speak, calling the twentieth primarch not his name, but by his numerical order in the Hierarchy of primarchs, twenty, the last. Elyrian had calmed down since the two of them had nearly come to blows days before, but he still quietly burned with anger at the disrespect his forced kin had shown him and with how he had no apology from it. So when Elyrian saw his chance to kick the 20th while he was down, he took it.

"Ah Twenty, you have my condolences and my pity for how that went, maybe if you weren't an insufferable bastard then it wouldn't have happened." Elyrian said to The twentieth primarch after his scolding, a gentle and friendly smile upon his face as he spoke. None of the anger that had transfixed his face in their last encounter was evident. "I forgive your transgression by the way, I'd say don't do it again but my men have orders to ignore any transmissions from your legion from now on so it won't be a problem again." He smiled at his "brother" as he awaited his response, fully expecting some lunatic ravings, a violent response, or no response at all.

He stood there bedecked in his green power armor with his helmet strapped to his hip, a mug of ale was in one hand while the other was free. He stood in a posture that spoke of his readiness for combat, though this was not out of the ordinary and was merely how he conducted himself in company of those he viewed as threats.

"A lesson on being an insufferable bastard from the daddy's boy who wears animal horns on his helm. That's quite amusing."

While normally Coracus would revel in seeing his siblings roundly humiliated, Cyprig was one of the ones he mildly liked. Mostly because of their Legions similar combat doctrines. It bordered on respect at times. So seeing him chewed out by the Emperor and then mocked by Elyrian, he had an unusual reaction. An almost brotherly one. As he stepped forward and slapped the tankard from Elyrian's hand.

"But I guess that's to be expected of a sycophant like you, Elyrian. Always following behind Father like a barking dog, saying how high when he says 'Jump'. Even I have a mild bit of decency to not kick our youngest sibling when he's down. So how about you take a step back..."

He rested his hand on Desert Devil.

"Before I make you step back."