False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC)

[New Sriker]

Agri-world, Novae Spes
Capital City, Sidus

Juno paced back and forth in his quarters, reading the countless reports on the status of the planet. The planet had been completely cleared of the Dark Eldar menace, most of the populace was safe and the casualties were low, the capital, Sidus,was starting to recover. It only took Juno and his legion a week to fight off the Eldar, but they were still needed. The Liberators were assigned to help rebuild the planet and assist in restoring order, as the chaos the Eldar caused didn’t cease when they were killed off. Juno looked at the latest report in the pile, it read “A group of religious folk have been going around praising a deity of sorts.” This interested Juno, to say the least, “who were these people worshipping?” Wondered Juno as he read the report. He decided to go answer this question himself, Juno would go out onto the streets of Sidus, with him were Decanus Julius, and five Legionaries.

As he walked around Sidus, civilians would cheer for him and offer gifts of appreciation, which he would humbly reject, until he reached a certain group of individuals, the group wore white robes with red stripes going down from the hood covering their heads. The group approached Juno and his escorts, and upon getting close to Juno the men and women in the robes would bow. Juno looked down in confusion.

“Why do you bow?I’m in no need of such hospitality,So you can raise your heads.” Juno told the robed crowd.

“Oh, my lord Spartacus, we could never stand in the presence of a being as holy and mighty as you, Lord Spartacus!” An old man in the crowd said to Juno, with a joyful tone.

“What do you speak of old friend? I know of no holy force here,it can’t be I, for I'm a man just as you are.” Juno told the old man.

Julius walked to the side of Juno, and whispered “My Primarch, I think these civilians are the religious group mentioned in the report.”

Juno looked at Julius with a smirk on his face and responded to his remark “I noticed that my son, but I simply can’t think of why they worship me like this. All I did was kill a few enemies of the Imperium, my brothers and sisters have done the same an uncountable amount of times, so why do I receive praise?”

“My Primarch, I don’t know the answer to that question, you may want to ask the people bowing though, my Primarch.” Julius told Juno.
“Fine, i’ll ask them Julius” Juno told Julius

Juno then turned to the old man and then said “Sir, you there, you tell me why you worship me as you do, for this topic interests me to a high degree.”

The old man looked shocked that the Primarch would ask a simple old man to help answer a question. He then stood in front of Juno and explained the group’s beliefs “My Lord Spartacus, we have seen what you have done, you slay foes as if they are nothing, saved millions of our brothers and sisters, you heal from wounds that would kill any man but walk them off like they are nothing but a bug bite. This is why we praise you my Lord, we the Church of Spartacus, shall exist just to be humbled in your presence, for you are a god among men, a god who helps all and fights for all!”

Juno put a hand on the man’s shoulder “If that’s what you believe, I can’t really do much to change that my amica, but I advise you this, despite what you say, I still think of myself as a man, nothing more,just because I am stronger than you doesn’t make me less of a human then you and vice versa. For humanity's greatest strength is its ability to stay united despite our differences.”

Juno and his escorts walked away from the crowd, and before leaving gave the crowd a wave goodbye. After a few more hours of enjoying the city of Sidus, Juno went back to his quarters, alongside him, Julius and his Legatus, Leo.

“So what should we do about this “Church”, my brother?” Leo said to Juno, Juno sat there for a bit, wondering what they should do about the church. After a while Juno looked at the report in his hands, then started to tear them apart. Shocked by their Primarchs actions Julius and Leo rushed towards Juno, and tried to stop his action.

“My Primarch, what are you doing?” Julius yelled at Juno while he tried to stop Juno from tearing the report. Leo tried taking the report out of Juno’s hands but was kicked away by Juno before he could get a chance, and Julius’s attempts were put to shame by Juno as well.

“My sons, I must do this, for if any of my siblings heard of the church they would tell my father and his wraith my be put upon this world.” Juno told his sons in a serious manner.

Leo and Julius nodded at each other and bowed down to their Primarch and said “We swear by our lives we shall never tell anyone outside of the Liberators about the church.” Juno looked at them with a smile on his face. Shortly after, Juno told his men his plan.

“Leo, I'll leave Novae Spes under your control until I return, I leave the 1st cohort with you to safeguard the planet. Julius, my son you and the rest of the Liberators will follow me to our planned destination. Julius looked at Juno and asked “Where is that, my Primarch?” Juno responded to Julius “We are going on a visit to my dear brother of mine, Eyrian, so the answer is Calmora, my son.”

With the news of most of the Liberators leaving the planet, the people of Novae Spes celebrated and wished good travels to the legion. Juno and his legion prepared to leave the system Novae Spes resided in, aboard the Hope Bringer, and after saying his goodbyes to the 1st Cohort and his Legatus, Juno and the rest of his legion went off towards Calmora.

[Parcia]

Clause.

He held his gaze, for once, solely on Vasilia. There was no idle scribbling of notes not aloof staring off in to space. He didn't even slacken at the use of his sisters powers. Something had been eating away at him for some time and his sister's almost dismissal of Angeline's concerns certainly confirmed something in his mind.

As for the situation with the Orks, "Clever of the damned Orks." He paused, recalling his own assessment of the Burning Scrolls. "My legio suffered 523 losses, nearly 1,000 wounded. That may be a drop in the proverbial bucket for the rest of you, but that's 10% of my fighting strength. My Fleet can be broken up to reinforce key areas, and most of the legion can be attached to Creatrix's or yours, Vasilia." A second pause, a cocking of the head, and a faint smile. "There don't happen to be any worlds still in need of compliance in this area of operations? I could use a walk in the park to fighting the damned Orks, Father knows the Scroll's aren't equipped for it."

A third, pregnant pause. "Vasilia, I'd like to speak to you privately after this, if permissible." A plan was starting to form in his mind, One that promised interesting possibilities.

[Imperialisium]

Vasilisa Sanguina
Strategium of The Vengeful Spirit
Falluja System

Vasilisa could have guessed her siblings responses. They were correct after all. This was most unlike Eyrian and his compulsive adherence to honour and duty. Pieces on a board. Angeline's remark could possibly be true, but who was pulling the strings? The Greenskins? No, there was possibly an unseen player pulling strings. Creatrix backing up Angeline's notions and then Clausewitz request for a private discussion confirmed that unease was wreathed around her siblings. She nodded to him in acceptance of his request and cast her eyes once more among the three before her. A founded uncertainty that it may be was still in the air. Given what they had faced. Could it be? Vasilisa's mind whirred back to a time two centuries ago. How many thousands of days had transpired?

You will be my final bastion. When all else fails. A silent blade. Untouchable by those who would seek to bring our Dream low. My Avenging Angel.

She remembered those words from Father. The Master of Mankind. Her creator, she remembered them quite clearly when she was brought before him in the House of Leng on Terra. There, Father, but an unassuming man in a simple cloak and tunic utilizing strange instruments as if to measure space and time itself. Vasilisa snapped back to the present and flicked her eyes around the room at her siblings.

"Angeline and Creatrix are quite right. I should not be so hasty to judge Eyrian. Titus will no doubt inform of us if all is well or what has befallen our dutiful sibling." Vasilisa's words at least appeared sincere and a part of her wondered if they were. She swung a gauntlet up, the haptic sensors of the holo-lith swishing forth a single Binary Star System containing eleven Gas Giants and seven planets with numerous moons ringing both categories of celestial bodies. A thin asteroid belt bisected the rings of celestial bodies into inner and outer systems. Both suns blazed yellow and blue. The latter dwarfing the former. Leaving the inner ring but blasted rock and volcanic wracked planetoids. The outer ring however, a green icon blossomed, possessed a single inhabitable world with life sign readings.

"The Firestorm Frigate Skyldr passed through the system on a preliminary run ahead of a full compliance action. An action now since delayed due to the Greenskin menace sweeping through the sector in every direction. Yet, this world has so far remained untouched by their hordes. Originally discovered by Rogue Traders of House Gaelin and Anasie. Their reports told of a Feudal World of little note and of small commercial worth. Inhabited by a medieval technology level society of approximately thirty-three million humans spread across four continents and a large archipelago. Imperial Charts currently label it R-G15/A23-12. Colonists nicknamed it 'Timizora'."

Swinging the projection around to give a better view to Clausewitz. Vasilisa continued, "This is the single planet not yet gone through Compliance. Given the state of the Burning Scrolls and by your words, it seems ideal that you and your legion go there in force. Once secured it will be a valuable base of operations in the middle of the Sector. Now, there are some priority locations in the Sector. Moorn's World has so far, as to our knowledge, not yet fallen. An immediate relief effort there would be optimal in blunting the latest Greenskin offensive there. There is also the Industrial World of Arcadan. It's Manufactorums would be beneficial to the overall effort in the region. Additionally, Arcadan was host to a shipyard in orbit capable of servicing a squadron of ships at a time. Recently built over the past few years. If the Orks haven't crashed it into the planet's surface then it would be most useful."

For Arcadan and the space objective Vasilisa glanced at Creatrix. A void battle and securing manufactorums? Creatrix couldn't have asked for a more preferred theatre of operations. However, The Void Tyrants were also a small legion and if engaged in a massive ground fight the Void Tyrants could suffer casualties they'd be hard pressed to replace quickly. "Angeline, where would you take the Lightbringers?"

There was also the sizable Imperial Army formations among them. The Parsarians would probably be superb in fighting amid the Industrial cities of Arcadan that much was certain. But the others would likely be deployed in force else where...

[Morrdh]

The Vengeful Spirit
Strategium
875.000.M30

Finhallen and some of his staff were amongst the Imperial Army officers who filed in, finding seats or standing space where they could as the meeting quickly filled up. The Calbernians had come straight from planetside and barely had the chance to scrub up, their drab mustard fatigues were stained and the olive green flak chest piece they wore were still scorched from las-hits. It had been a tough fight, slowly giving ground as they fell back to the drop ships whilst trying to keep the rebels in check least they overran the Imperial soldiers. It had been a close-call with the last few drop-ships, hatches were literally slammed into the faces of the crazed rebels who'd tried storming the shuttles.

Now they were in the relative safety of orbit as preparations were made to burn Falluja, though details as to why this fate was to befall this world were curiously absent. Though who was Finhallen but a man to fathom the mind of what was effectively a demi-god? Whilst there were probably reasons for such an action, it was clear that mere mortals were not to be made privy to it. Either way, Finhallen was glad to be shot of the cursed world.

Orks weren't a foe that Finhallen would've instantly picked, though they were a foe that he knew and could fight. It would be a tough fight, but nothing like the savagery his men endured on Falluja. Being forewarned of their expected enemy would go a long, it gave the men the chance to train and to prepare for the battle ahead even if it wasn't going to be under fully ideal conditions. Though it was troubling to hear that an entire Legion of superhuman warriors had simply upped sticks and let the xenos run amok, a sentiment seemingly shared by the rest of those present.

Still, they had a new campaign to prepare for and Finhallen was determined to ensure that his men were made ready for any possibility.

---

Morrigan's Wrath
Luna-class Cruiser
The Immaterium

It had been a couple of weeks or so since the summons from the Primarch of the 5th Legion, though that was relatively speaking from the passage of time observed within the Immaterium. Time was....loose here in this other dimension, an alternative ocean to sail as one traversed the great void. By now Gaelin had expected them to have crossed into the Kalas Sector, one of the more recent regions of space reclaimed by Humanity as part of the Great Crusade. Gaelin had planned to transition back to realspace in order to take on fresh supplies before resuming his voyage to the meeting with the Primarch Vasilisa Sanguina.

Now they were beginning to make that transition, the crew anxious and eager to once again be back in reality and away from this unsavoury realm. Gaelin had positioned himself on the captain's throne to oversee the preparations, though by now the crew knew what they were doing and had a routine. The Calbernian Rogue Trader listened in on all the chatter, hearing the reports and readouts as the final round of system checks were completed.

All systems green.

"Mr Cowpar." Gaelin called out to the Shipmaster. "You have the helm, transition when ready."

"Aye m'lord." Cowpar nodded and then went about barking orders as the ship was made ready to complete the transition from the Immaterium. Readouts were announced as various systems were closely monitored, least any mishap occur at a critical time.

Just then, the intercom chimed.

"Rodarch." Replied Gaelin with a frustrated sigh. "This better be important."

"Lord-Captain." Rasped the voice of the Navigator. "Forgive the interruption, I sense a presence....almost like a mass chatter....in realspace."

"A presence? Can you elaborate?"

"I...cannot. The tides of the Warp here impede me from getting anything clearer."

"Noted." Sighed Gaelin, knowing that they were already committed to the transition as a tear in the warp formed ahead of them, and turned to the Shipmaster once again. "Mr Cowpar, ready the ship for action if you will. We may be dropping in one some unexpected guests."

Cowpar simply nodded and quickly gave the necessary orders, though the anxiety of the crew rose as a sinking feeling was felt as the ship plunged through the tear and tore it's way back into realspace. Relief flooded throughout the bridge as stars once more filled the inky void, though this vanished a moment later as the ship suddenly lurched and klaxtons started blaring.

"Report!" Snapped Gaelin as the bridge crew went into a frenzy amidst frantic cries. "What just hit us?!"

"We're under attack!" Responded Cowpar. "By Orks, they caught us before we could raise the void shields."

"What's the damage."

"We've sustained a hit on our forward section, starboard side. Minor hull breeches, nothing we can't handle." Answered Cowpar. "Rest of our fleet is transiting through and taking up positions."

"All ships, flank speed." Gaelin ordered. "I want to be gone before more of the xenos put in an appearance."

"Aye sir, flank speed."

"Then have the following sent as an astropathic message sent to the Fifth Legion." Gaelin then ordered. "My sincerest apologies to their Primarch, but I have been inconvenienced by Orks and I fear that the retched greenskins will keep me from our appointment. Gaelin."

[Prusslandia]

Falluja System
Task Force Alpha
Lazarus Ignus

The arrival of the Sixteenth Legion was, as per usual, quiet. The Materium was rent by yawning void, the crackle of lightning and plasma heralding their arrival. Escort ships sped forth from numerous small portals, the crackle of astropath and vox communications. Greater fissures followed, capital ships of all classes scything forward into the astral sea, circled around the greatest of them all, a Gloriana-class, flagship of the Sixteenth and personal vessel of the Genarch himself.The Immortae Triumphant, carrying all manner of foul death. Host to fully-functioning laboratories and chemical production plants, she could synthesize a viral agent keyed to one bloodline alone, or deploy a nerve agent capable of silencing an entire world. Vox messages spat from the flagship to the Vengeful Spirit, closed-band, nominally private to other ships within the system.

Strange, but all things about the Sixteenth Legion were strange.

++IMMORTAE TRIUMPHANT HAILING VENGEFUL SPIRIT
ASTROPATH INCAPACITATED VIA GRAND MAL SEIZURE
NON CRITICAL DISRUPTION
GENARCH AND RETINUE EN ROUTE
IMPERIALIS AETERNAE++



A smaller ship, a thumb to it’s great body, decoupled and sped toward the Vengeful Spirit. Aboard was the Genarch and his aforementioned retinue, a handpicked circle of bodyguards and experts from within his Legion. The red luminator within the transport was bright, but it mattered not to the Genarch. He was lost within his mind again, as he always was, a giant more aptly described as savant than leader. Unless they had something worthwhile to bring to the Genarch’s theories, trying to communicate with him about non-criticals was useless.

They arrived without fanfare, the band disembarking as quickly as they came, trailing the loping gait of the Primarch, like manta to a shark. A collection of Legionaries and 5th Legion diplomats welcomed the Primarch, kneeling as they did to all of the Emperor’s finest. Lazarus payed them no heed, engrossed in the dataslate he held. In his stead his equerry strode forward, a Legionary named Ajax. More often than not he found himself speaking for the Primarch in situations like these, as the Genarch was more apt to offend in his abruptness than amaze.

“Stand, cousin. He needs guidance to the Strategium.” Ajax spoke in a diplomatic tone, trying to smooth the ruffled feathers of the welcoming party. More than one Legionary had wounds to their pride from the negligent attitude of the Genarch, as it amazed many to meet a Primarch that simply did not care. Not out of malice or spite, just plain indifference. The Legionary nodded and led them to the Strategium.

The doors burst open, and the Legionary prepared to announce the Primarch, but Lazrus simply burst forward, absent-mindedly walking past him. His siblings were in deep discussion, but the retinue would’ve been surprised if Lazarus had even noticed. The booming voice of the Primarch broke all thoughts as he strode forward, bearing a dataslate. At first he addressed no one in particular.

“Were they carbon-based? Silicon? Warp-influenced anatomies can be highly variable. Number 1, did your null-classification offer a unique reaction?” His attention shifted, bearing towards Angeline now “Ah, 13. As a powerful Psyker you are closer to the Warp. Did you have a volatile reaction, perhaps instinctual?”

Again his attention shifted, this time to Creatrix and Clause. “Creatrix, Clause. I presume you have theories to present on the warp-xenos. I have developed several, but nuance is always appreciated.”

The Genarch waited expectantly, silently, for their response.

[Antimersia]

Adalon Cyprus
Aboard The Oasys in Orbit above Apocraphon Delta

The Apocraphon system is one that once had three habitable planets. With the loss of the hive world Alpha, only Delta and Gamma remain. Gamma, is a cemetery world, used to house the remains of the billions from the hive world, Alpha. Delta, however, is a dwarf planet and a garden world. The only spots that aren't lush green or shimmering blue, are the cities that from orbit look as though they were made of solid gold. Adalon watches as the dwarf planet grows larger in his vision. He watches from the cock pit of a thunderhawk that descends into the atmosphere of Delta. Adalon made contact with the magistrate of the planet. A woman of great honor known as Alannah Varyanova. Adalon was cautious about the details of his arrival on the planet, opting to lie to Alannah, and say that he arrived to relish in the pleasures of Delta.

Being a Primarch, Adalon expected a lavish welcome party for his arrival on a garden world. But as the thunderhawk's doors lowered, there was but one man. An elderly man, gray in both hair and skin. Adalon, choosing to forgo his power armor as to keep his ruse in tact, was followed by his heavily armed and armored Dust Giants as they exited the thunderhawk.

"Adalon Cyprus." "Fifteen." the man said, speaking with two harmonic voices at once.

"Fateweaver." Adalon scowled, angered at the boldness of this xeno. He knew not how this being operated, but this is now the third human taken under this xeno's control. He wanted the destroy the Fateweaver with all his might, but what good would that do? Adalon knew he would just be killing a mouth piece, and not the xeno itself. "How dare you corrupt the innocent people of the Mankind? Face me yourself you coward."

"In time." "Never." The Fateweaver replied. "You have chosen the challenge wisely." You have chosen the challenge poorly."

"You do not lay dead before me. So, I promise I have not reached my intended destination quite yet you Xeno scum." Adalon replies defiantly.

"You have much to learn, Adalon Cyprus." "You have the answers, fifteen." The Fateweaver's thrall smiles wickedly. "Your challenge is set." "We need more time to prepare."

"I am not here to play games, Fateweaver. I am here to end you, your master, and your race. Now release this man, and I will make your death quick. Continue to toy with me and I will make your regret learning my name." Adalon threatens, his fists clenching with barely contained rage.

"You cannot end me." "I pray for your mercy." The Fateweaver laughs. "I have seen your end, and I still stand." "I know nothing of the outcome."

"Lie of the future all you wish. I shall not fail in my duty." Adalon steps forward until he is inches from the Fateweaver's thrall.

"The stage is set." "Our plans are complete." The thrall begins to glow purple and blue just as the twins did, "Find my master's servant on this world. They shall be hidden among the people. You have three revolutions of this planet." "Find my master's servant on this world. They will be plainly visible. Take all the time that you need."

The thrall is engulfed in light and vanishes before Adalon's eyes. He turns back to his Dust Giants and says, "Do a sweep of this area. I want every inch scanned and analyzed. We need every hint and clue we can find to lead us to either this xeno hiding among the people, and the Fateweaver himself." He points to two marines. "Percival and Theo, you shall accompany me while we move forward. I do not feel as though that will be the last time Fateweaver makes himself known to us. We need to meet with Magistrate Varyanova and assess the situation on the planet. Let's move."

[Lunas Legion]

Uriel Febua
World Designate 100-09
Ultima Segmentum

There were many species of foul Xenos in the Galaxy, and of all of them, Uriel could not think of a single one he would rather face across the battlefield than the brutish, if dimwitted, Ork. Other xenos would attempt to fight with their superior technology, cloaking, energy weapons, lightning-fast hit and run strikes, fortifications, defensive lines, battle plans and stratagems...

But the orks, no, the orks would leap out from their encampments of scrap with a cry of 'WAAAAAGH' and happily charge across the open ground.

As they were doing right now, on the ashen surface of World Designate 100-09.

Uriel just roared back, an ash cloud forming behind him as he led the Brazen Beasts in a counter-charge towards the orks, away from their landing site. They collided like waves clashing, a tide of rippling green muscle and flesh meeting plain silver metal, blood splattering over metal and ground as chainaxes met flesh, choppas scratching at power armour. Uriel lunged forwards, lightning claws sliding through ork flesh as he collided with the horde. His momentum wasn't stopped as he kept moving forwards, lightning claws slashing out whip-fast, slicing and skewering as he cleared a path through the orks.

The orks broke around him, their wave of muscle finding him an immovable rock, leaving a clear path behind him as he advanced, strewn with pieces of ork as he moved forwards, the heavy flamers of his terminators keeping burning the orks as they tried in vain to keep up with his advance. They didn't retreat, didn't surrender, didn't try infuriating strategies that only dragged out conflicts or were futile against the wave of superhuman power that was the Brazen Beasts. They only dragged out conflicts by sheer weight of numbers and persistence, but a respectable willingness to come looking for a fight meant that was not as much of a problem as it could be.

It just made it less of a hassle for the Brazen Beasts, so they didn't have to spend months looking for orks, they'd just drop nearby and the orks would come like factory workers to the mess bell. And if you did enough fighting, then there'd just be more orks.

And more. And eventually, bigger orks would come, ork vehicles. They'd come like moths to a flame, and the Brazen Beasts would burn them.

Oh, he'd missed this. It was just what he needed, to forget everything Atlas had told him, the distasteful business that would follow. But something needed to be done, and soon. With Atlas gone, he was better suited to recruiting more supporters to their cause, he just needed to decide who. But that could be done when whatever relief forces were being sent to this blasted wasteland of an area of space showed up.

[Aserais]

Angeline Alpharia
Strategium of The Vengeful Spirit
Falluja System

Angeline put a hand on her chin as she surveyed the maps and her sister gave them more information on the current situation. Clause being sent to complete the compliance action made sense--other than perhaps the Void Tyrants, the Burning Scrolls and the Iron Guard had suffered the most heavily during the campaign on Falluja. A feudal world wouldn't be able to offer more than a token resistance, and they may be satisfied to simply be uplifted and brought into the larger Imperium with the promise of advanced technology.

The shipyards would be ideal for Creatrix, even with his reduced force. He was made for that kind of fighting, and his Astartes and servitors were specifically trained to take targets in the void... but the industrial world's defenses would present a problem to Creatrix's diminished forces, and the world itself was perhaps as valuable a target as the shipyard, especially for their mechanically-minded brother.

At the same time, Moorn's World needed to be reinforced, and quickly, if they were going to have any chance at blunting the Ork advance and luring them into a trap.

"I can devote four chapters to Arcadan's surface, and commit the rest to Moorn's world. We have to stop them there, we simply do not have time to fortify Timizora to the level that would be required to fight off Ullanor Orks," Angeline finally said, using the haptic interface to bring up the two worlds she was planning to commit her forces to.

"I do not remember an Urrlak Ghar from the campaign there, but there were not any weak Orks on that world. They will be emboldened by the XXth Legion's disappearance, and the waagh will attract more Orks to its banner with every second we delay," she posited, looking upon the holograms with a deeply concerned look on her face. None of what had transpired sat well with her--from the moment they had entered the Falluja system, something had been wrong with the warp.

She felt it like the barest whisper of breath upon the nape of her neck, as if there was something, some malevolent entity, that was exerting their corrupted will upon the world. There were tremors reverberating throughout the warp, from all reaches of the galaxy. If one paid attention to the warp, it could almost be seen as a massive web of interconnected strands, between individuals, places, even events in time, and right now the whole web was shaking, as if someone was plucking the strings.

She didn't like it.

Angeline's luminescent eyes turned as Lazarus entered the room and immediately began speaking in his usual manner--that is, aloof and only interested in his own curiosities. Though it could not be seen, Angeline rolled her eyes when he referred to her by number. The Archangel hated when he did that, which was every time he addressed her, and yet gave names to both Clausewitz and Creatrix.

"They were comprised of pure warpstuff, Lazarus," she responded, making a point to emphasize his name. Maybe, one of these days, he would take the hint and begin to refer to her by her name as well. She didn't hold out a particular hope for that, however.

"Upon death, they were subsumed back into the immaterium. Their presence was like... There is no way to properly describe it without having experienced it firsthand. It was like a physical wound in the warp, festering and unnatural. They were hate and vitriol personified," she attempted to explain, frustrated that there was no scientific way to describe the sensation. That was, of course, what Lazarus was truly after. He was never interested in the metaphysical beyond how it could advance his studies.

[Ormata]

XX LEGION, VOID TYRANTS
PRIMARCH CREATRIX
HIVE WORLD FALLUJA ORBIT, SEGMENTUM OBSCURUM

Clausewitz was the first to speak again, his words giving some little concern for the Primarch. It was a heavy number of casualties, especially considered what had been gained for the death totals. Some glint of information had been found, and on the whole that was all. True, it was a vitally important glint of information, but the price of such things was hard to measure in lives. Besides that, it was possible that the planet would be lost soon anyways with the Ork invasion and the withdrawal of forces and that fact was more than an annoyance to Creatrix. Of course, such details were not immediately important compared to what the Primarch was seeing before them then and there. Clausewitz was not acting normal, was not acting in that usual self absorbed manner which characterized him as him. He wasn’t distracted, talking of something else, but sharp and focused, a scathing thing which few had compare. His posture was upright, eyes front, and to some degree confrontational.

Of course, it was also concerning by what else the Primarch had to say. Clausewitz wanted to blood his Marines upon another world, a simpler world, an easier world. He wanted them to fight against something not Ork, despite the fact that in Creatrix’s mind the Burning Scrolls were yet capable of going to war against most foes. Stranger still. He wanted to speak privately, to keep secrets, something which unseated Creatrix. The Light Child was no fan of secrets, despite the many which was kept by the same to the world at large, and preferred to know of others and their plans to the vague and nebulous ideals of compartmentalization in knowledge. In the Quest For Knowledge, such should be distributed to those who may have need to know of it and this was no different. If Creatrix still had eyes, one might narrow them at the comment. And yet, Creatrix stood still, a statue among all, hiding those emotions and methods with care. It did nothing for the self to expose those emotions to the greater world, nothing but damage one’s own position among equals, to bring doubt where it did not need to be presented. They didn’t need to know.

Vasilisa spoke next, voicing her support for Angeline’s and the Primarch’s statements. She spoke of a Feudal World, Timizora, which stood before the Orks hordes, that it was small and yet but thirty-three million inhabitants. It suited Clausewitz’s wish and requirement, suited them for the ease of conquest and could yet be used as a jumping off point into the Sector as a whole. Creatrix found that point doubtful, for no infrastructure was built on that world for the supply of warships and the delivery of cargos planetside was far more wasteful of time and energy than that of in the void. It was useful only in terms that the planet would, or rather should, be easier to conquer than others. The experiences of Falluja yet lingered in Creatrix’s mind as a prime example that forces were at work which did not manifest them in the more obvious manners the Imperium was so used to. It may be an easy victory. It may not. She then spoke of the Industrial World of Arcadan, something which Creatrix was predictably interested in. Industrial Worlds were hard to come by, especially in the blasted age of fire and flames, and the mention of the shipyard in orbit was even more enticing. Of course Vasilisa expected the Primarch to desire that prize, desire it for the Mechanicum’s sake.

She did not mention, however, the present state of the Industrial World. Vasilisa did say that the Orks may have crashed down the shipyard from orbit, a tactic which would not be outside of their normal operations since Orks had an unerring sense to see any object and space and want it as a weapon, and such an action would be a grievous sin against the Machine God. It would also set their efforts back by an exceptional measure, the loss of such a new shipyard a waste of materials and time. Then again, it was just as likely that the Orks were attempting to use the shipyard to their own purposes, to create their own capital ships and weapons of war. That was unacceptable. The planet presented a strategic objective in a clear, concise manner and had to be taken in a rapid order.

Yet before Creatrix could speak, another entered the room. Primarch Lazarus Ignus of the Sixteenth, a consummate researcher into the aspects of biology and other such life, one considered somewhat strange by others for an unceasing need of research and knowledge. Creatrix admired the tenacity, though the focus was a tad misplaced. He spoke quickly, attention dancing about the room as the researcher inquired as to their composition, their Warp aspects, before then inquiring both Creatrix and Clausewitz on potential theories. Lazarus had a habit of referring to those preferred by names and others by denotations. Angeline was the first to respond. She would supply four Chapters for Arcadan’s ground actions, something which most certainly would prove vital to the effort, as well as actively pointing out the superiority of import between Arcadan and Timizora. One was extensively built up, after all. She spoke of the foe’s composition, that they had been pure warpstuff, that they felt as though all which was negative had been placed into a singular being for the purposes of destruction and death. They were new, different.

++I CONCUR
+PICT-FEEDS INDICATE ONLY PARTIALLY MATERIAL FORMS
+TOXIC SUSCEPTIBILITY UNLIKELY
+XX LEGION STANDS READY TO AID INDUSTRIAL WORLD ARCADAN
+IT IS OF VITAL IMPORT++

[Woodstovia]

Sendrilon
The Son of Heaven
Planet designated 34-25 "Caevum"



Caevum was a completely unremarkable planet. Not even their creation myth seemed inspired, intelligence reports claimed that they believed a sun god created the sun, a heaven god the heavens, an earth god Caevum, and so on, with the various gods agreeing to create humans to oversee the animals and fauna of their planet. And what animals and fauna there was! Grass, horses, dogs... Just looking out of his window at the planet stirred an intense tedium Sendrilon rarely felt.

The planet was home to a stable human government, being ruled by a council of elders who claimed rulership of the entire planet although logistics made this difficult at times. The planet was moderately advanced, most did not fear for their lives and had the security of food, water, and shelter. The world also contained factories, motorised transportation, and so on although not the ability to travel to other planets or to go into outer space. The planet was a prime target for peaceful compliance, and if things went badly it didn't have the means of protecting itself.

Sendrilon wondered whether he'd be seen as the sun god or the heaven god.

On his mark Sendrilon entered his Stormraven and began the descent into orbit. His plan was simple, and one that the Sons of Heaven had executed countless times. He and two members of The Zephyr would land outside of their capital city and ask for negotiations with the planet's rulers. If things went badly the 2nd company had its drop-pods ready to land right beside him.

At 15:00 hours the Stormbird made planetfall, thundering towards the surface. A small regiment that must have been nearby was mustered and surrounded the Stormbird as it landed. Cries of panic and desperation filled the air as The Zephyr departed, giants in spotless enameled plate wielding swords which were almost as tall as the soldiers they were staring down at. There was a long silence before Sendrilon finally departed the Stormbird and took his place between them. That there was a being larger than the Astartes who had come before him must have been a shock, nevermind one with eyes made of lightning and a crozius which was bigger than they were. The supernatural aura that surrounded all Primarchs in some way but him most of all would be buffeting them now, the feeling of immense power wrapped up inside the mortal shell they were looking at, a feeling that what they saw was effortlessly superior and existed to command them. Some of the soldiers dropped to their knees, lowered their weapons, or stared at the ground. Unable to offer resistance at the sight of the Primarch.

A warm smile came across Sendrilon's features "Worry not my friends, I come in peace bearing the greatest of news." A brief flicking through a translation guide assembled by Imperial Agents had been enough for Sendrilon to master their language although he felt he still had an accent when speaking it. He knelt down before the soldiers and extended a hand "What are your names?". Although reluctant at first he managed to get every soldier to tell him their names and shake his hand. The Primarch rose and spoke again "If you would be so kind I would ask each of you to accompany me to your Council of Elders." An agreement was reached and Sendrilon was given an escort straight to their leaders.

Sendrilon glanced distastefully at the boxy, glass building in front of him which supposedly denoted power or opulence to these people and hunched over to enter. He was brought through a maze of corridors to a large open room with a velvet carpet and various banners. In the center sat 5old men on "lavish thrones". News of the invader had swept through the city, and none of the Elders seemed confused by his presence although he could see his aura was affecting them just as much as their underlings. Sendrilon inclined his head as a sign of respect before beginning.

"I am Sendrilon and I bring not a vision of war, but a vision of peace. I come not as a destroyer but as your saviour, and I do not come alone." Sendrilon pressed a button on his wrist and a projection of the galaxy filled the room. It was a cheap trick he used for situations like these. Holograms of almost every planet in the galaxy filled the room, and the vastness of Imperial held space was easily pointed out to them. "I come from here, Laeron. Although my father, the Emperor beloved by all rules from here, Terra." the distance between the two stars and the idea of both being part of the same Imperium was remarkable. "I am but one of his sons, sent to unify the human race and serve as its protector for all time. My planet was ruled by alien tyrants who pushed humanity into servitude, and across the galaxy there are countless worlds which suffered a similar or worse fate. Humanity cannot exist alone and scattered. We are too weak, too vulnerable to the machinations of our countless enemies who infest the stars. Our goal is a galaxy united, unified under humanity, protected by me and my soldiers. What I am offering you is a place by our side, a place within The Imperium. We will bring technologies the likes of which you could never imagine. This planet will be uplifted and you and your children will know a level of wealth and security never before imagined. Your sons, if they so wish will come with me, they will conquer the stars and bring safety to countless trillions of humans who need to be saved. They will bring glory and honour to Caevum and your planets achievements will be sung in every corner of space." Sendrilon looked forlorn now and his voice seemed pained and softer "But I also carry a warning. We need Caevum. it is our upmost duty to protect every human in the galaxy. If you refuse my offer then I will have to resort to force. It is not what I want and I apologise for coming into your hall and uttering a threat, but you must know the truth of things." the pain seemed to dissipate as quickly as it arrived "I will go now, I give you 1 hour to discuss your response, and I look forward to hearing it."

At 16:15 hours upon the Breath of Life Sendrilon was informed compliance was achieved and a small fleet of Imperial bureaucrats descended upon the planet to draw up production and recruitment quotas, tax policies and to begin the planet's education on the Imperial Truth

Sendrilon sat alone at his command-throne and gazed down at a data-slate. He had endevoured to write a book during the boredom of space travel. It was given the working title of "An Argument for the Imperium" and was designed to serve as a sort of fluff piece, arguing why The Imperium was the greatest system of governance humanity could ever exist under. It would have been distributed to every planet in the galaxy, with the hopes of it convincing common citizens to stop any thoughts of rebellion and embrace their status as Imperial citizens. But lately he had found the book harder and harder to write. He'd spent days gazing upon it and fail to write a single word. Eventually, he'd just put it away and declared the project "on hold". He'd hoped reading it again would give him some idea of how to continue but once again found no ideas were coming to him and he placed the slate away again.

he turned to something he'd watched a thousand times over recent months: The Triumph at Ullanor. Images of the Emperor, standing side by side with his sons and daughters. The incredible sight of so many legions and Primarchs in the same place at the same time still intrigued him despite himself. But it also stoked a fire within him. He should have been there. He could have helped, his fleet was close enough to arrive before the war's conclusion. Why had his request been denied? He'd managed to subjugate a number of worlds yes, but surely any help which could have protected The Emperor's life just a bit more would have been preferable to a string of unremarkable human worlds?

And then at the climax of the festivities The Emperor, as he did every time Sendrilon watched named Titus his Warmaster and announced his withdrawal from the Crusade.

Why wasn't it me? Whispered a voice, igniting further anger.

When thought about it logically Sendrilon understood the reasons. He was not respected by every one of his siblings the way Titus seemingly was, and his list of achievements was somewhat lacking compared to the others. Titus similarly made some logical sense. He was loyal, hard-working, a man soldiers found easy to respect. He was calm and level-headed, able to keep his composure under stress. But his achievements weren't particularly outstanding either. Had father forgotten about the Redoubt? A Gloriana class battleship lost at the hands of Greenskins of all things? Even if Titus was the correct option why weren't the other Primarchs polled in advance or even informed of what was to happen.

Sendrilon sighed. Father had always been right before. Even if he couldn't see why, he just had to accept he had made the right decision.

[Krugmar]

Steel Men
Segmentum Pacificus

Broken shards of glass covered the floor, colourful remnants of what had once been an exquisite work of art. Crumbled walls and scorched earth was all that remained of this vast profane temple, brought low by the Steel Men several decades prior. 30-44, known by the locals as Vorokh, had been a desolate world even before they had arrived. Now there was no sign of life upon its withered surface.

"Another dead end Atlas, once again our efficiency worked against us." Said Achilleus bluntly, kicking some of the glass along the floor.

Atlas ignored him, studying a shard of glass intently. He moved it slowly, angling it in the sunlight to reflect it in various ways. Then in a flash of anger he crumpled it, and threw the pieces to the floor.

"Perhaps the Interex were lying, fools deceived by xenos." Suggested Parizitis, bearing his helmet underneath his arm and running a hand through a thick mane of curled black hair. His brother Ektor moved to him quickly, lightly pushing him from the wall he was leaning from and shouting something over a private vox channel.

"They did not lie." Said Atlas softly, gazing into the distant setting sun. This was only the third world they had visited, yet one of the last that could prove fruitful. Most others that had harboured foul cults or obscene religions had been wiped away completely, or had been built over until there was nothing left. Few harboured ruins as relatively untouched as this.

"I am picking up life-forms, moving from the east and moving fast. Four of them, human." Said Ulysses.

"Didn't we scour this planet of what little life there was? Must be faulty Ulysses." Replied Achilleus. But sure enough on the horizon a few figures riding poor excuses for jetbikes came towards them. A few of the Ekhtroi with Atlas raised their guns, but he motioned them away and began walking towards the entrance of the ruined structure. A few minutes passed before the four arrived, though only one dismounted. Their leader, if he was such a thing, wore harsh armour covered in strange writing and symbols. He removed his helm to reveal a lightly scarred face, with wild bright purple hair on one half of his head, the right side shaven fully.

"My Lord, welcome back to Vorokh." He said, giving Atlas a strange salute.

Atlas looked him up and down, betraying no emotion. "You remember us, you know of me, do you know what I seek?".

The man nodded, "We are honoured to guide you on your path of glory, though all we do is but point the way. There are no answers for you here, but there is a place where all secrets have been gathered. Go to a distant planet, there you will find the Prophet."

"Which planet is this?" Asked Atlas.

"Colchis."

---

It had been his home for some months now, but still the Gate of Dreams felt a strange place. Ulysses blamed himself for becoming complacent, his position at the Primarch's side allowing him a life of luxury and stability. He barely remembered his days as a simple battle brother, serving under Pravus Comorran, a man of excellent judgement and keen decision, except his 'choice' to be a Terran. His death had at first been tragic, later Ulysses learnt it was a necessary evil. How simple those days had been, before elevation to the highest ranks saw him bound to an oath of secrecy, and the weight of a terrible future burdened upon him.

Now that burden was upon the entire legion, and what a change it had made. The mood seemed ever so more sombre, the atmosphere heavy, as what they had to do did not sit right with them. But they trusted Atlas, needed him, and a life lived in service of a lie was no life at all. Many of the mortals had sensed the change in atmosphere, but from what he had heard most pinned it down to jealousy that Atlas had not been chosen as Warmaster. Fickle, timid, and inept most mortals, but Ulysses pitied them. When the galaxy burned, it would be they who suffered the most.

He came to his destination, a small chamber that Atlas had commandeered to be his chambers, and where the Ekhtroi would meet, and meet often. Sometimes it seemed their Primarch never slept, so attentive to their quest at hand that his eye never closed.

He opened the door, observing that he was the last to arrive. A familiar voice greeted him, "Ulysses, got lost again?" Jested Parizitis. Ulysses smirked, then entered the room.

---

Colchis seemed much like Vorokh, only it had not undergone treatment by the Steel Men. Ulysses could not remember which legion had undertaken compliance, but it looked as though it had been a quick and uneventful process. Crowds had gathered in the streets of Vharadesh, including many soldiers of the Imperial Army, who bore a strange mark upon their shoulder pieces. The same mark could be seen adorning what seemed to be places of worship. Clearly the process of compliance to the Imperial Truth had not only failed, but been rejected.

Atlas and the Ekhtroi made their way through the streets, as they were hailed with flowers and petals, crowds gathered at the sides. There was no jubilant screaming, or quiet murmuring, as on some worlds, but instead a strange and eerie chant as they were led to their destination. A vast cathedral lay before them, the centrepiece of a plaza at its centre containing four statues to four humans with names in runes Ulysses could not read. One carried an axe, and wore bloodied bronze armour, another seemed both male and female, with an outlandish paint scheme, the third was covered in pox marks and his armour was rusted and broken, while the final statue seemed inconsistent, apart from bearing four arms and two great wings. Four mutants the Colchisians held sacred perhaps? More sacred that the giant statue that had once stood there, judging by the former marks of a plinth moved or destroyed, probably one of the Emperor.

Standing before the cathedral was an old man, hunched over with a cane, layered in red, black, and gold robes. He had no hair, and his face was lined with those same unreadable runes. He gave them a smile, but it did not seem like his excitement was from their arrival. Instead his eyes seemed to be towards the statues, though their eyes looked outwards to the stars. This place did not feel right.

Yet they continued, manoeuvred up the steps to the old man, who seemed to be a priest of great importance. Next to him was the Governor of Colchis, Varius Emehrin, a fat Terran who apparently had little scruples about his mission, or loyalty to his homeworld.

"Your arrival was foretold to me, Lord Atlas." Said the old priest, giving them a wicked smile.

Atlas sighed, "So I have been told before. I trust you have my answers."

The priest nodded, "All the answers anyone would ever need, though whether they are your answers depends upon you."

"Cultists and their riddles." Complained Achilleus, a man with little patience for mortals at the best of times.

The priest glared at Achilleus, before composing himself. "There are no cultists here, only those who embrace the truth, who seeks a better future for humanity. One free of a certain false god at the heart of Terra."

That piqued Atlas' interest, confirming that perhaps their quest was not futile after all. "You are the leader here? I trust you will not send me to another planet for these answers?"" He asked, the feeling of being directed by mere humans an alien one to him.

"I am the High Priest of Colchis, he who knows the will of the Primordial Truth, but to you I am but a humble guide, one who shall unlock for you the secrets you deserve to know. You may call me Erebus."

[The Empire of Tau]

Xana II
Segmentum Ultima

Collaborative post between Lunas Legion and The Empire of Tau

If Vulkata was Indrania’s home, then Xana II was her second home. She did not remember how many years she had spent among its forge-fanes, a guest of the Lords of Xana II, the Vodian Consistory. The Archmagos-Procurator of Xana II had been more than accommodating upon Indrania’s arrival, and had been more than understanding about the urgency and the need to temporarily withdraw the planet’s honour guard of a Mora of the Golden Phalanx.

Indrania found herself watching from an observation deck of the Thalassa as a stream of macro-conveyors shuttled individual units up from the planet’s surface, more rarely joined by a vast bulk-transport ferrying vehicles and formations that simply could not fit in smaller transports, or did not have a void-capable craft to travel in assigned to them.

At this point her fleet was more Mechanicum than Astartes; the 444th had returned at her summons, and so she had three Mora at her disposal, three thousand Astartes, but that would be insufficient, and so Xana II had been willing to supply her with additional forces… After making sure that they would be returned when the emergency had passed, and that Archmagos Scoria was not with the fleet.

The bone-coloured Imperial Knights of House Malinax had pledged eighteen Knights to Indrania’s fleet, and not to be outdone by the other Legio Vulturum and Legion Kydianos had each pledged a maniple of the God-Machines, while the Lords of Xana had provided multiple cohorts of Legio Cybernetica, backed by units of tech-thralls and Thallax cohorts. Even a battlegroup of the Ordo Reductor resupplying on-world had elected to join her fleet, its Magos, Callan Andros, eager to test his capabilities alongside a Primarch.

Another Primarch would have had their doubts over wielding such a force as she could see over Xana II, the ships of the planet’s warfleet speckled with the golden ships of her legion, as heavy on Mechanicum elements as it was, but Indrania knew the Lords of Xana, and Scoria had shown her the ways of war of the mechanicum after a decade of fighting alongside him and his Taghmata. She could wield them almost as well as her own legion.

The 715th Expeditionary Fleet, along with its attached Imperial fleets, warps-in close towards Xana-II. More than a thousand ships materializes in a blink of an eye, exiting out of warp-travel. Samael has returned after ten years of campaigning out in Segmentum Ultima, bringing a rogue human empire into the Imperium's fold. Xana II was the closest forge world nearby, thus prompting the arrival of Samael and his whole fleet and legion. “This is Samael of the 19th Legion. I request supply and repairs to our fleet,” Samael states over the general comms, targeted at the overlords of Xana II.

---

“We have new arrivals, 715th Expeditionary Fleet from their ship designations, Lady Primarch.” Gordiana’s voice said, her voice almost a whisper as it was broadcast through the observation room’s vox-system. “The Lords of Xana have yet to reply, but have informed us that your brother Samael is with them and intends to resupply and repair his fleet here.”

Indrania let out a low groan, picking up her helmet and sliding it over her head. She didn’t like wearing it, but it was necessary for its vox-systems.

“Patch me into the ship’s vox, I’ll speak on their behalf.” Indrania said, the vox whining briefly as Gordiana moved her through various channels.

“Brother.” Indrania said, turning to leave the observation deck and make her way back up to the ship’s bridge. “What state is your fleet in as we speak, as there are rather urgent situations that require our attention and whatever you can contribute would be greatly appreciated.”

“Our fleets are not in critical condition, but are a bit battered from our last fleet engagement,” Samael notes.

“‘A bit battered’ is more than intact enough. Unless you have any pressing matters on your campaign, I would ask for your 715th to accompany me to the region around Ullanor, minus ships that must resupply or repair. Are you familiar with the recent… Incidents in regards to our brother Eyrian? I know better than most how unreliable astropathic communication can be on the fringe.”

“I have not gained any form of outside communications from the Imperium proper in the last ten years since the finishing of my current campaign. I am unaware of any current events that might have happened in my time away from the Imperium,” Sam responses, pausing for a second.

“And I will be more than happy to accompany you to Ullanor, whatever the situation within that sector is,” Sam finishes, now awaiting for his sister to speak back.

“Then there is a lot to discuss.” Indrania sighed. “But that can be done later, there is no time to be lost. Our brother Eyrian, for reasons I neither know or care to know, appears to have deserted from the Great Crusade with the full strength of his legion, and all of the campaigns that the VIIIth were leading have ground to a halt at best, have been pushed back at worst. I intend to depart as soon as the last transport from Xana has joined my fleet, you have until then to resupply if you wish to accompany me, you may choose to delay if you wish and follow after. I will inform the Lords of Xana of this, and they will do their utmost to fulfill your requests for resupply.”

“That is very troubling..I even fear a coming civil war, but that is a topic for another day. I’ll await your orders to leave. In the meanwhile, I’ll resupply my warstock,” Samael states as he goes off to do the task of logistics for his fleet and legion.

[Segmentia]

The Bulwark, Calmora system

The Bulwark and the fleet Titus had gathered initially to respond to the distress call on Falluja exited the warp and into the Calmora system in a loose, non-combat formation. The bulk of the fleet remained at the outer-reaches of the system, while the Bulwark and a small fleet moved further in, with open channels of communication with the gathered Sons of Calmora fleet. Titus wasn't here for a fight after all. As the Bulwark and its companion fleet moved further into the system, Titus prepared to travel down to the surface to face Eyrian, a small honor-guard preparing as well, a small detachment of a dozen Astartes, lead by Honor Captain Hakael.

As the Bulwark and its attendant fleet neared Calmora, it struck up a far orbit of Calmora. After clearances were given, a single Stormhawk carrying Titus and a dozen Astartes making up an honor-guard, launched from the Bulwark. The trip was quite, the mood tense, as all were expecting harsh words to be exchanged, and Primarchs could have a terrible anger to them when roused. The Stormhawk soon landed in the primary courtyard, and even from there and a few passive aerial scans Titus noted the build up of forces, it seemed that Eyrian hadn't just been content on bringing his entire legion to Calmora, but a significant amount of Auxiliary as well. The hell was he playing at? Titus put it to the back of his mind, his grip on Ork Bane tightening a little as he lead his honor guard into Eyrian's palace.

It was a short walk to the throne room, where they were admitted in silence, beyond the clanging of the doors. Titus took immediate note of Eyrians twelve Castellans gathered, six to either side, which what he recalled as Eyrians two most senior captains to his left and right. Much more noticeable was Duty, Eyrians personal sword, unsheathed and laid across his lap. Certainly not a situation Titus thought he would be walking into. Titus came to a halt halfway across the throne room, his honor-guard mimicking Eyrians Castellans, splitting half to each side.

“Eyrian, we have some matters to discuss.” Titus said in a neutral tone, though he couldn't entirely hide some of the anger he felt towards his brother Primarch for his recent actions.

[Revlona]

Calmora


From the great stone throne that stood in the hall of Castle Cal, Eyrian, Primarch of the Emperors eighth legion and ruler of Calmora looked down upon the group that stood before him. Twelve astartes of the Wardens stood before him, grim in stature and obviously boiling with tension, this tension most definitely due to the man the stood beside. The Warmaster himself had come to Calmora, he had come to deal with Eyrian.

Eyrian allowed the Warmasters words to hang in the air for several long seconds, his gaze never leaving his brothers face as he let the silence stand. Finally he nodded once at his brother before standing tall, his face contorting in pain for a fraction of a second before resuming its normal grim outlook. He hefted his blade and slid it smoothly into its sheathe.

“I am your host and you are my guest, my duty is simple in this instance. Come, the table has been set, we can have your talk over food.” Eyrian said before turning from his throne and striding through the double doors that stood behind it. His Castellans followed his lead and began to make their way through the double doors and into the room behind them.

A great table had been laid out with the finest meats and drinks that Calmora could offer. At one end of the table Eyrian seated himself, his Castellans taking the seats directly around him, leaving the other end of the table empty for the Warmaster and his men.

[New Sriker]

Agri-world, Novae Spes
Capital City, Sidus
Legatus Leo Victor

Leo Looked at the map of Novae Spes and the files of information on the planet, the planet had a population of 300 million, it’s main produce was it’s exotic fruits. Despite this, Leo’s reason for being on the planet wasn’t to get fruits and other supplies, no it was to recruit for the Liberators. While the War Novae Spes ended, the crusade was still raging on and the Liberators needed the recruits. Leo walked out of his tent, then walked towards a stage, and as he stood there he looked in front of him and saw the crowd of volunteers seeking to join the Liberators, around 30,000 young men looked up at the Legatus, almost all of the young volunteers looked in awe at the man.

Leo looked at the possible future battle brothers, many of them were in their late teens,and in the crowd a decent amount of the volunteers were wearing the robes of the Church of Spartacus, once he saw this Leo let out a large sigh. Leo believed that having battle brothers focused on religious fulfillment would make them weak in battle, unlike the brothers who were looking to help the populace of the Imperium, but nevertheless men were men and the Liberators needed the increase in manpower. Leo looked towards the crowd and welcomed the volunteers “ Young noble sons of Novae Spes, I wish to thank you for offering your minds and bodies for the Liberators, but you are not yet even close to being a brother in the legion, first is the testing, then afterwards the training, it will take three years until you reach close to being a real brother but until then, I welcome you brave men.” After his speech the crowd cheered loudly at the Legatus's speech.

Leo then gave a hand signal to some of the legionaries around him, the legionaries then handed the volunteers a piece of paper to fill out and a syringe, the volunteers would write down their name and age and use the syringe to take a sample of their blood. After the forms were filled out and the samples taken, they were given to a tech-priest who then went to test the 30,000 samples in the Liberators camp, but this process would take hours. Leo walked alongside the tech-priest and asked him a question “How long will it take to run the test, amica.” The tech priest looked up at the hulking figure and responded“It will take about 5 standard Terran hours, my lord.” Leo smiled in response. The crowd gazed at the stage, it had been six hours since they had sent in their forms and samples, many of the young men were anxious, for some if they became an Astartes it would fulfill a wish to help the Imperium or allow them to improve the living situations of their families, but most of all they would fight alongside the Liberators, heroes of their homeworld. Leo and the battle brothers named off Volunteers who were not genetically compatible with the gene seed, upon their names being said the young men's faces would show anger, sadness, and surprise. At the end of the listing around only 22,000 Volunteers remained. Many of those who were rejected were given gifts by the Liberators, such as extra rations or in some cases goods from the Liberators’s homeworld. The remaining volunteers were instructed to move out to the Liberators camp, the volunteers started their three years of training that day. The first training of the day was sparring, in which the young volunteers would go head to head with fellow recruits or commissioned battle brothers. Most of the volunteers put up good fights against each other,but when they reached the battle brothers, the fights became more like a slaughter as a single battle brother took on 10 of the crazy enough volunteers who thought they could compete with an astartes. After the sparring was the stamina test, for this the young volunteers would have to run around the whole city of Sidus for 5 hours to see how long they could last in a constant sprint, most of the volunteers gave in in around 3 hours, but the few made it to 5 hours were given immense amount of praise from the Legatus. The final exercise of the day was a hard one, a game of hide and seek, where the volunteers must work together to hide from the Liberators, the 22,000 were given an hour head start top hide, many of them got cocky thinking they were sure to win this challenge, but they were false, after the hour had passed the battle brothers of the Liberators had already began tracking down the volunteers, after two hours every single one of the volunteers were found by the battle brothers. The day’s training had been a good lesson on the future Liberators, showing them the virtues and skills needed to fight for the betterment of the Imperium and to safeguard the people.


The Hope Bringer, Calmora System
Primarch Juno Dominus

The Liberators fleet entered the orbit of Calmora, Juno and his men were there to visit Eyrian after Juno heard of him pulling out of False Terra, wished to celebrate his brother’s victory with Eyrian. Juno looked towards his legion and announced “My sons we have arrived on my brother, Eyrian’s world, once we land, we will celebrate his recent victory putting down that savage rebellion on False Terra. Now we will hold a feast in my brother's honor!” Juno walked towards a window and what he saw shocked him, ships from the fleet of the Imperial Wardens, the legion under the command of his brother Warmaster Titus. “Why would Titus be here?” Thought Juno, Titus was busier than most of the primarchs, since he was in lead of the whole crusade.Juno seeing that Titus was here gathered his Centurions and told them his new plan.

“Something is strange, we will not be bringing the rest of the legion onto Calmora, you Centurions will accompany me to the surface of the planet to talk to Titus and Eyrian, give the order to the legionaries that they will be staying upon the ship, I must go prepare for this meeting.” Juno walked off towards his quarters, once he entered he equipped only his armor and his gladius leaving his gauntlet behind, the primarch then put on his ceremonial cape. Once he finished getting ready to visit Calmora, Juno gathered his Centurions and boarded the transport vessel.

After establishing comms with the Calmorian Auxiliary and assuring that the group was allowed to land upon Calmora, upon landing in front of the Royal Place, Juno yelled out “This planet is simply beautiful, and the air is fresh like a newly trained legionary!” The beauty of Calmora gave Juno a happy feeling,reassuring him there could be no wrong going on.Juno and his Centurions started their journey into the Palace, Juno admired his brother’s choice in decorating, as the inside of the Royal Palace was a sight that would honor all who saw it. Juno and his escorts had finally reached the doors of the throne room, Juno started opening the doors and upon the doors opening saw a wonderful sight, his two brothers sitting at a table with a bountiful feast of the finest foods of Calmora, but had also noticed something, both of his brothers had men at their sides, but Juno put this aside and greeted his kin “Ah, hello my brothers, Eyrian I have heard of your triumph in False Terra and came here to celebrate with you brother, but I noticed Titus has beating me to that honor.” Juno then looked at Titus and bowed mockingly “Oh forgive me for not honoring my mighty, mighty Warmaster Titus, I jest brother.”

[Parcia]

Clause.

He took his brother's entrance almost with out notice, keeping his gaze on his Silver haired sister with an unbecoming intensity. "I will take the Wrath and 250 men of my 1st Company to instill compliance upon this world. Angeline, I offer you the Iron Guard's aid in fighting the Orks, if memory serves the Green Skins learned to hold a healthy respect of the Guards during the end of the Ulannor Crusade, though if only for a short time."

He paused. A lul in the conversation seemingly perfect. "The Warp-Xeno, the one I dispatched. Vasilia it knew of our scattering among the warp." He held his gave on her, doing his best to imitate her patent soulless stare she would often level on those that earned her ire. "It knew our names, It knew of things it had no business knowing. Would you happen to know anything about that? Vasilia?"

[Prusslandia]

A collaboration between Woodstovia and Prusslandia


Breath of Life’s command room was almost absurd looking to anyone who wasn’t a member of the Sons of Heaven, gigantic statues of the Primarch adorned the 4 corners of the room, interspersed with previous Knight-Exemplar’s. The most recent of whom’s statue was being carved out in the bowels of the ship. These statues looked over a finely decorated room, a velvet carpet, desks and chairs made from the finest of materials and available in sized suitable for mortals and Astartes alike.

Sendrilon worked at his desk, still trying and failing to begin his book anew when The Zephyr suddenly parted and announced the arrival of his Equerry Reynar. Reynar bowed deeply and wordlessly presented Sendrilon with a data slate which the Primarch took and looked over.

“Sendrilon.

The Sons of Calmora have abandoned the Front near Falluja. As the closest unoccupied legion in the area you are to reinforce the 3rd legion and stabilise the situation. Coordinates are inclosed.

Titus.”

Sendrilon gripped the data slate almost too hard and had to place it down before it broke. Reynar was still bowing and Sendrilon waved him out of the room looking perturbed.

He really thinks he’s capable of giving orders. Sendrilon could feel his blood rising. He doesn’t even use the title of Warmaster, does he think he’s above it, is it just another of Father’s boons to him?

Sendrilon had no choice however. If The Great Crusade really needed him then his duty was to help in whatever way he could manage. An announcement was broadcast across the entire Sons of Heaven fleet. They’d be going to aid the 3rd.

-------

The might of the Pale Ghouls stretched out before the Sons of Heaven’s fleet as they approached them, sending the signal that their primarch was on-board and coming to aid them. The Pale Ghoul’s fleet stretched out as far as the eye could see, and even though Sendrilon had fought with the 3rd before he still felt the pangs of envy when he observed their might.

Knight-Exemplar Lanius, and Equerry Reynar stood beside his Primarch and their Zephyr bodyguards as their Stormbird flew closer to The Sunderer.

“I don’t suppose they’ll have suddenly become civilised since we last met?” Lanius asked, glancing with what Sendrilon assumed to be distaste at the other legion’s Flagship as it sprawled out in front of them.
Their Stormbird docked in The Sunderer’s hangar bay and Sendrilon stepped out, taking in his surroundings. Compared to the ships used by the 7th, the Pale Ghoul’s ships seemed almost barren, being almost completely unadorned. No bas-reliefs of the Emperor, and not a single Imperial Aquilia. Only the cruel, almost barbaric insignia of the III Legion, intersped with the odd mural of Ghoul glories.



A handful of Astartes from the III stood to greet them, 5 in number. Unlike the armor of the Sons of Heaven, the plate of the Pale Ghouls was unadorned, save for simple lines of red paint to mark rank. One was unhelmeted, and the myriad of dark inkings on his nearly albino flesh drew the eye. Comments on the stylized appearance of the Sons were muttered on the isolated vox of the Ghouls, but no outward statements were made.

The unhelmed Marine brought a fist across his chest in salute, and his crude accent greeted the Primarch of the VIIth.

“Greetings, Gastroy-Heveni. I am Guldan, equerry to the Primarch. The Vor awaits you in the Strategium. Follow me.” His teeth bared as he spoke, teeth for gnashing and tearing. Truly a ghoul. Guldan turned, making his way toward the Strategium.

“It is an honour to meet you Guldan.” Sendrilon answered in the refined accent of Laeron. He seemed not to notice, or at least not to comment on his host’s appearance as he descended from the Stormbird, a cheerful and bright smile plastered across his face. His armour seemed to shine and reflect off of his son’s armour, literally bringing light wherever he strode.

Was this meant to be an insult? 5 men and no primarch. Then again he hardly expected Sarov to show manners.

The Strategium was a large, circular room. Computer consoles orbited a large hololith, showing the III legion deployments in the local sector. Numerous Astartes stood guard, or talked beside their Primarch, as servants made regular rounds with food and drink. They were silent, ever silent, with a singular inked brand on their forehead, marking their station.

“Brother!” Sendrilon exclaimed as he approached the Strategium. He rushed forward and embraced Sarov in a handshake, beaming happily at him. “It has been too long since we last met face to face! How long has it been? Near 20 years? Far, far too long. I counted down the days as I approached your fleet you know.”

Reynar came forward and knelt before Sarov and offered an elaborate red cloak, woven from the finest materials on Laeron.

“So much has happened! We even have a new Warmaster! You know a wept when it was announced? Of course I wept for father’s leaving but also for the appointment of Titus. I said he’s done it again! I would have never chosen Titus, but that’s why I’m not Emperor. When I thought about it I said he’s done it! There’s the only man who can lead us! How brilliant! A masterstroke if you would.” Sendrilon was pacing around the room as he spoke but stopped on his heel and turned to Sarov. “But today is about me and you brother! And what wonderful music we’ll make together for our new man!”



Sarov smiled as Sendrilon approached, gripping his hand in familiarity. While not the closest with the Son of Heaven, he appreciated their similarities, and was pleased they had been assigned to fight together. Better them than weaklings like the Burning Scrolls. He looked at the offered cape, admiring the superb quality of the garment; While the Ghouls were not artisans, they did appreciate fine things in life.

Sarov listened to his brother speak, allowing the avid conversationalist to wear himself out. He nodded at the appropriate moments, and bared his teeth in a cheeky grin at the comments regarding Titus. Once Sendrilon finished speaking, Sarov responded.

“It is good to see you as well, brother. I thank you for your gift, and I would be remiss to not offer you something in return. Skaga!” At the sharp echo of the burzum term, an older, well-dressed mortal approached. “Zhirnov has served as my scribe for many years, and I know that he would not be useless amongst your Legion. I hope that his literary skills serve you well.”



“Brother! A gift? I thank you from the bottom of my heart!” he grinned as Zhirnov awkwardly stood beside Reynar. Sendrilon took one of the offered drinks and downed it before sitting opposite Sarov.

“I apologise for being so upfront brother, but the news I received from Titus disturbed me. I know he is not one to lie, or try to placate egos so tell me truthfully. Why did the Sons of Calmora “abandon” the front? I can’t imagine them doing such a thing.”

“Eyrian, and his sons, are weaklings. I am not surprised. They would sooner make peace with xenos than exterminate them.” Sarov said, distaste evident in his tone. “Their cowardice has destabilised this entire theater, and both of our Legions must now repair the wrecked remains.”

“So you don’t know?” Sendrilon asked, looking disappointed.

He glanced at a hologram of the front and tsk’d in dismay “Trenches, trenches, trenches again brother? Come now.” he began rearranging the Pale Ghoul’s deployments across the entire front, until his brother’s war-plans were unrecognisable. Although he was doing so in a way which wouldn’t actually send out orders.

“Here! You should stop being so static brother, we dictate the terms of our fights. We don’t sit back and let our enemies throw the first punch!”

“I would rather turn their cities into graves, but these systems are undeveloped agri-worlds, fit only for whetting the blades of new Astartes. My sons grow restless from such a creeping pace.” Sarov said. “I digress, brother. What would you suggest?”

“Feign a retreat and let me steal all the glory?” he grinned, before pressing the reset button and adopting a more serious tone as he made adjustments to the warzone

“Contract your lines here, here, here, and here. I’ll defend those regions and we’ll be able to attack with more concentrated forces. Agri-worlds may be boring to trudge through but they’re vast and open, it’s perfect for my Knights. I’ll encircle them and you help reinforce the edges of the pincers. Then we close the pockets together.”

“But I wanted to discuss more than just war brother. A new Warmaster, father leaving… What do you make of it all?”

Sarov stayed silent for a quick moment, face blank, but within he was unsure. This was a chance to ‘enlighten’ his fellow primarch, try and convert him to Atlas’ cause. But he was not the charismatic man his brother was; His world dealt in blood and veiled daggers, not the finer manipulations others were skilled at. Deciding against it, he looked back at Sendrilon.

“Titus is a skilled defender, this much is true, but I would not have made him Warmaster, were it my decision. He failed to a high degree, but is now made Warmaster? It is strange.” Sarov spoke, the end of his sentence inflected with confusion. “And for the departure of the Emperor? He is meant to lead us, not the Skag’Puv he has appointed instead, the so-called Council of Terra. The weak should not dictate the strong as they do.“

Sendrilon sighed “I know I was giving him high praise when we began this meeting but I share your sentiments brother. I do not object necessarily to the Council of Terra - I don’t think civilians helping to rule the Imperium is a bad thing but… I’m concerned for the future.” He gazed away from Sarov, looking contemplative.

[Segmentia]

Calmora

Titus was actually taken aback slightly at Eyrian. He had caught the obvious flare of pain on his face, but he was worried about playing host? Not having much way to halt Eyrian from simply leaving the room and going into the other. He followed Eyrian, but he nor his honor guard sat down. He was about to speak when their brother Juno joined them. Normally Juno was a welcomed presence, but now was not that time for his lighthearted joking.

“If by triumph you mean an Exterminatus ordered under...unclear terms, Juno, then you are correct, but I am not here for any sort of celebration.” Titus said before turning his attention back to Eyrian. “You would feast as the Orks devour half a dozen sectors? What madness has gripped you, Eyrian? Why has an entire Legion of Astartes abandon their positions with no warning? Have you any idea how much damage this has caused?” Titus' tone was stern, laced with an anger he was keeping under control, but simply allowing Eyrian to hear.

[Revlona]

Calmora

A genuine smile played across Eyrians face as his favorite brother walked into the room. Juno and he had always gotten along well and besides Angeline, Juno was his favorite sibling. “Unclear terms? It’s rather insulting to insinuate that the words that came from my mouth were unclear. I ordered False Terras destruction.” Eyrian said, quickly and without any obvious emotion, though inside the Primarch still grieved for the billions of souls who had died because of him.

“Juno, brother, don’t mind our warmaster here, you are welcome in my home..even if uninvited.” He then said, motioning to the servants against the wall who immediately set a table directly besides the 8ths spot. The positioning of the placement an obvious message, Juno was a welcome friends. Titus was not.

Eyrian turned to meet titus gaze once more, confidence restored to his mind at his brothers presence. He then looked away from him and instead at Juno, favoring him with another one of his rare smiles. “What happened on False Terra was a tragedy brother so I will not raise my glass to it, however I will raise it to the continued success of our two legions in the field,” he said.

[New Sriker]

Eyrian’s Palace,Calmora

Juno’s face of happiness turned into one of shock once he heard the word Exterminatus, exit the lips of his brother Titus. Exterminatus, a word Juno despised with a passion, a weapon used by the weak to destroy what they couldn't conquer, but when Titus said that Eyrian, Juno’s most honorable and courageous brother, used such a weapon, made Juno feel lost in the conversation.

Eyrian’s statement on the Exterminatus shocked Juno as well, for Juno didn’t expect him to accept the accusation so quickly and nonchalauntly, Juno looked at Eyrian with a glint of anger in his eye. He then yelled at Eyrian with a spiteful tone “How, how can you say that you ordered the deaths of billions as if it was nothing, you a man of honor and vigor that knows no bounds, say such a horrendous statement makes me think one of those rebels hit you on the head a bit too hard brother.”

As soon as he finished his fit towards Eyrian,Juno turned to Titus and still in a rage yelled at him “And you Titus, the oh so mighty Warmaster, who is criticizing Eyrian for pulling out of the crusade and causing damage,you have yet to realize, that you my brother have killed countless more then Eyrian has with this pull out, for you are the Warmaster who has directed countless campaigns, which some have failed and caused countless amounts of death and damage, but do I come to your home with a rude attitude and threaten you and your sons, no. You should have preparations in case of scenarios like this event had happened in the past or in the future for it is your duty as the Warmaster to prepare for troubles involving the crusade.”Juno then sat down at the table and readied himself to eat, then he stated to his brothers “Now then, I have stated my anger towards the both of you, let us eat and discuss our issues as brothers rather than officers of a military, and keep the conversation free of hostile intent and anger.”

[Endem]

Nikolai
Aboard the Tchaikovsky
Orbiting Talaz

Thump, wheeze, thump, wheeze, thump, wheeze, he could feel his heart working and his ever-present shortness of breath. ah his heart, it is no longer like it was on Osowiec, barely, it barely even was, kept alive by the power of the Caduceus. His face burned, the skin of it was little more than a collection of patches of skin, nobody could see it anyway, the mask hid it.

The world below, lush, Mediterranean fauna and flora, blue skies, blue seas, or it once was, it's transformation similar to the one of Osowiec, the old appearance of it, now degraded to darkened skies and burned ground. Only one patch remained, the last of the xeno holdouts, soon it will be gone, subsumed by the fumes and eaten away by fire.

Then a marine walked onto Nikolai's silent contemplation

"We are preparing a final attack, soon we will be about to move away from this world, we have received reports of-"

Nikolai interjected

"for later, I want to see the attack",

Nikolai's words were unnaturally stretched out, yet another of the mask's dubious blessings.

The marine nodded and said

"Please follow me, my lord",

Then he lead Nikolai to the hangar bay, where they promptly boarded one of the standby shuttles, it had quickly took off and soon enough it landed on the planet's surface, Nikolai exited.

Talaz

The sight was apocalyptic, distant fires and fumes of smoke could be seen in the distance, the sky was warped beyond recognition, covered in thick, dark clouds, acid rain killed the animal life which didn't find a cave to protect themselves and flora which wasn't sheltered, it eroded buildings, and destroyed the soil, the purification was nearly complete.

Fifty large barrels full of deadly weapons have been set up, Nikolai watched. You could not see it, but the sun of this world has nearly reached it's zenith, then the wind, as predicted, changed into a favorable position, the lids were unscrewed and opened, deadly toxic fumes of sickly green slowly started to crawl out, climbed up the hill, to destroy the last xeno city.

The smoke has entered, creeping through the dark streets, surprising xenos in their homes, a large species of mamalliams, similar to appereance to oversized bats, they struggled for a bit, convulsed as their lungs turned into a dark red mass, coughing up blood, they have fallen out of the buildings, the once pristine white collumns desecrasted, through the streets run those still strong enough to walk that were overcome with animalistic instinct, while others simply slumped back against the walls, the city was dead, the planet purified.

At last, the gas reached the temple in the centre of the city, there, the last priest-king was waiting for his death, in his final moments he could not longer wish to his gods a painless death, the king had ruled for decades, and he saw as wars have been fought, but nothing could prepare the xenos for what the Immortal Scourge brought, their automatic weaponry stood no match.

"Very well"

Nikolai commented, as he watched the spectacle unfold, then the marine who reported previously finally said

"My lord, we have received reports that Sons of Calmorra have retreated from their position, the whole front collapsed"

Nikolai considered it for a second

"We will assist"

roughly four days later

The green colored fleet emerged from the warp, the ships of other legions could clearly be seen, and leading them the mighty Gloriana of the Sun Angels legion leading, from the Immortal Scourge's flagship, a message was sent to the Vengeful Spirit

"Tchaikovsky hailing The Vengeful Spirit"

[Imperialisium]

Mars
Sol System
1.888.000M31

The Red Planet, the fourth planet of the Sol System, the home and most holy world of the Mechanicum. Rotated in the darkness of the void. Terra but a pinprick in its sky and the Sun blazing through red, smog covered, atmosphere. Burning with hues of orange and bright blues as Mars thin atmosphere blanketed a world covered in iron rich soil. Yet, for its crimson and red lifeless nature it was a world crawling with life. Burning with the fires of industry and the ceaseless comings and goings of billions along mag-levs, streets, ground ways, and causeways stretching between towering manufactoria complexes.

The Red Planet's population toiling around the clock in heat sink fueled foundries, amid towering fabrication smithies, and inside massive squat assembly facilities. These monstrous amalgamations, Forges, clawed deep into the rocky crust of Mars and soared high into the sky as the black smoke of processing plant fires made all the sky a musty haze.

It did not end on the surface or subterranean levels of the Martian Forges. No. Circling the planet was the massive Ring of Iron. As if mirroring Saturn further out in the Solar System. Vast space elevators and orbital dockyards thronged with activity. A billion workers toiling in the construction, refit, maintenance, overhauling, and resupply for thousands of ships. From private yachts to commercial haulers all the way to massive battleships with guns the size of buildings.

<<Stormbird designation 75/SA-23 clear for landing on Pad Gamma-2.>>

<<Copy that Olympus Mons Control. Making final approach vector.>>

Swaying through the streams of Martian air traffic a Stormbird in the livery of the Sun Angels cruised. Its powerful engines whirring as it bled speed. Swinging it's impressive bulk rather gracefully with the help of advanced gyroscopes and vectoring thrusters. Coming to a rest on hydraulic landing gear extending from its underside. The hiss of powerful suspension machinery easing the heavy gunship down onto the ferrocrete landing pad attached to the side of a towering Manufactorum plant.

One of the larger Manufactoriums within the Forge of Olympus Mons, the Forge of the Fabricator-General himself, towering an impressive four hundred and thirty-eight storys above the surface. Tendrils of air pressure equalizing filled the cabin of the Stormbird as one of the heavy, armored, landing doors lowered itself to form a ramp.

Stepping out with the clank of ceramite on metal alloys. The hulking form of an Astartes tramped down onto the ferrocrete ground of the landing pad. His heavy armored boots coming to a rest as his helmet's autosenses enhanced the sight before him. A Mechanicum Adept with an honour guard of Skitarii were arrayed before him.

"The Fabricator-General of Mars bids you welcome, as always, Praetor Maximus Masuname." The Tech-Priest's voice was metallic but bore some hint of humanity. A protocol in the Priest's vox-grille giving the voice of a polite female tone. Tech-Priestess as it were.

The Astartes, whose armour was a master crafted artificers suit in the style of warriors from his homeworld of Ainaru V, bowed in respect to the greeting. "A pleasure, as always, Magos Illivia Epta."

The Magos turned and with a bionic hand bid Masuname to walk with her. The Astartes reached up and unsealed his helmet. Pulling it off his head before cradling it in the crux of his shoulder the Astartes known as Masuname came astride the Magos. The Skitarii honour guard falling in behind them in perfect mechanical unison.

"Lord Sanguina's logistics requests are on schedule I assure you," said the Magos quickly. As if slightly nervous by the Astartes presence beside her. Both casually walking towards a yawning doorway where two more Tech-Guards stood vigil.

Masuname, his dark brown eyes glancing at the Magos, a smile curling on his face as he spoke, "Yes, and she is always greateful for the immediate attention her requests yield. Fabricator-General Kelbor and all the Mechanicum are the basis of this great endeavor."

A mechandendrite clicked in agreement. If the Magos still had most of her face she may have even blushed at the endearing compliment.

"No offense, as much as I have always enjoyed our strolls among the upper manufactorum stacks, I was hoping to have an audience with the Fabricator-General? The Parliamentary session is due to be over, yes?"

"Yes, but there is a special committee hearing over supply quotas. Certainly you have heard?"

"Yes, the Greenskins are resurgent in several sectors. Notably the Kalas Sector."

"Let me be of some reassurance. All of the Mark IV equipment destined for the eighth and twentieth Legions have been earmarked for the Sun Angels. I can promise deliveries of the upcoming batches by the beginning of the next year cycle?"

Kelbor-Hal disliked the Primarchs to varying degrees. This much was easy to ascertain for Masuname given how long he's spent as liaison to the Mechanicum on behalf of his Primarch. 'Gifted with diplomacy,' were Vasilisa's words. But if there was one that he abjectly feared more than disliked, it was Vasilisa.

"May I ask why the reroute from the twentieth? I am aware of Kelbor's disdain for Lord Creatrix, but...,' Masuname paused as they passed into the building. Through the opening doorway sliding away to allow access. The interior of the building was much like any Manufactorum structure. Metal and rockrete with occasional ferrocrete superstructure reinforcing. The symbols of the Mechanicum carved into the walls of the hallways as the duo made their way inside.

Illivia swayed her head to the side slightly before replying, a still all to human movement, "Lord Kelbor-Hal is reaching his edge of tolerance for Creatrix's current standing in the Priesthood."

Masuname grunted in acknowledgement, "Vasilisa will of course support his decisions as befits her continual support of Mechanicum autonomy."

"Your Primarch's stance is always welcome within the Forges of Masuname. Many like the Mistress of the Magma City occasionally inquire when they will receive a visit from her in the future?" replied the Magos with programmed emotion.

"I will send such remarks to my Primarch with post haste. She has always enjoyed the wonders of the Mars," replied the Astartes smoothly. There was ever so slightly more pip in the Magos' step. As much as there could be for mechanical legs that is.
The duo continued walking as they entered a gallery were. Down many flights, towering in height and scale, with thousands of workers moving along forty different gantries and gangways. Four Warlord Titans were under construction.

"How many Mark IV's can be expected?" questioned Masuname with a side ways glance.

"With the rerouting of supply chains I can promise three thousand and four suits will delivered to the 5th Legion at the start of the new year cycle."

"Terran time?"

The Magos let out what could only be surmised as a chuckle. "Yes, Terran time."

Terra
Sol System
1.896.000M31

A pair of golden craft flitted between never ending lanes of air traffic. Elegant spires, towers, and causeways spearing kilometers into the sky pierced the dirty grey-brown clouds of Terra. Their colour occasionally broken by pure white clouds traveling and rolling around the towering structures resting in the Himalazian Mountains. The last mountain range on Terra. The sprawling mass of the Petitioner's City flying past as throngs waited in queue lines for employment in the ever expanding bureaucracy of the Imperium of Man.

Cruising forth, coming around in a tight arc between a pair of gold encrusted gothic spires, the two craft angled down towards a landing pad near a vast circular building. The Hegemon. A domed structure ringed by gigantic status of the Primarchs in all their glory. Statues of Imperial Heroes, Astartes and Human, Military and Civilian, lined the processionals while the double-headed eagle rose in full golden splendour. Reflecting the light of Sol in a dazzling brilliance. The Gold and diamond studded roof of the Hegemon shining brightly while along the skyline of the Himalazian peaks the form of the Zeon-Ind Orbital Plate moved slowly in its circling arc. The floating city, one of several cress crossing Terra, seemed to drift along like a steel and ferrocrete cloud. The shining crenellations and butresses of its structures white stone able to be discerned for many kilometers around.

Tilting ever so slightly the pilots of these majestic craft hit the air brakes with superb delicacy. Gracefully circling to land. Throngs of Administratum, Departmento Munitorum, and the hunched forms of menials from the Astra Telepathica parted to give even more room as the gunships doors opened. Everyone swiftly bowed, knelt, or declined their head in reverence.

Stepping forth, bedecked in Auramite armour, came the majestic forms the Legio Custodes. The Custodian Guard. The Emperor's Praetorians. At their head was a man with a buzzed head and statuesque visage. Like a statue depicting the Ancient Terran Gods of long gone epochs. His eyes shown like gems as he looked about himself, ever vigilant, much like the Custodes behind him as they swiveled their helms ever so slightly. The landing pad was five hundred meters wide by six hundred and ringed by buildings over a kilometer high into the sky; while, already being three kilometers above the surface of the Himalazian foothills.

The Custodes strode forth as living embodiments for the Glory of Terra. The Majesty of the Imperium wrought of flesh and blood. Pinnacles of the Emperor's genetic mastery. Each and every Custodes an achievement to never be repeated. If the Astartes were the mass produced models of post-human perfection than the Custodes were the creation of an artisan's hand. Forged by the Emperor and the very best of Terran Gene-Smiths. No two Custodes were created the same way.

Their strides were long and their gait unyielding as the Custodes crossed the landing zone and made for the towering doors of The Hegemon. The circular building rose eight kilometers from foundation to the top of its dome. A circumference covering one hundred hectares and able to hold half a million people comfortably within its confines.


Stepping towards one of the doorways. Which, was truly a gate in size as the doors evenly spaced throughout the gothic architecture of the building were each fifty meters tall. Hewn from the jungles of Hy Brasil on the opposite side of Terra.

A pair of Custodes stood at attention as the doors yawned open silently on well maintained silver hinges. The Custodes heavy boots clicking ever so satisfactorily on the polished marble of The Hegemon. The pillars of the structures interior likewise made up of marble in laid with electrum artistry depicting the triumphs of mankind and the Imperium. Aquila's wrought of gemstones ringed in polished platinum hung above mighty crystal chandeliers and bronze light fixtures.

It took the Custodes ten minutes to reach their destination at their own fast pace. A vast circular chamber that could fit several thousand representatives. The highest auditorium of The Hegemon. The air was cool and crisp. The interior ceiling twinkling with a revolving nigh sky as seen from Terra in ages past. It would have been mesmerizing had it not been for the clamour of voices and the beating of gavels.

The Council of Terra was convened and there was fire in the blood of the political heads of the Imperium today.

"Ah, Lord Valdor." A calm voice hit the lead giant's ears. The latter's head swiveling to face the small man holding a staff bearing an open eye inset into a metal Aquila.

"Master of the Astra Telepathica, why do you not sit at your assigned seating?" replied Valdor.

The small man frowned as if it had just struck him that he was standing where he stood and not participating in the back and forth governmental shouting match being conducted before them. His voice mirrored this, "The loud voices sometimes make me nauseous. There has been disturbances of late. I and many others in the City of Sight have felt tremors in the Empyraen."

The golden giant crossed his arms before his chest, "The Sigillite, Nemo, spoke much the same yesterday."

"The Sigillite is, however, silent today," remarked Nemo Zhi-Ming, the Master of the Astra Telepathica with a hint of dry humour that only he smirked at.

Indeed, as the golden giant cast his brilliant steel grey eyes forth, there, in the middle of one half-circle side of the auditorium. In a box specifically to set him apart from the rest. Sat Malcador the Sigillite with his staff resting onto his shoulder. The burning flame between the Aquila's wings topping off his staff crackled like a candleflame. Outshown by the glaring natural light of Terra shining through drawn windows spanning twenty meters in height.

The golden giant listened to the rancour as one lanky man stood, Master of the Administratum, named Simion Pentasian spoke with urgent evocation, "Eyrian must be brought to Terra to stand trial on behalf of his Legion! Dozens of worlds burn at his glaring oversight!"
He was shouted down by three dozen representatives with one of them, one of the two Lord Commanders Militant of the Imperial Army, Tabor Ludovicia, practically shouting with a booming voice, "The Greenskin menace is under control! Astropathic reports show that half a dozen legions and the mobilizations being conducted by myself and Lord Commander Militant Haldane Ma'lon will be expunge this blight upon Humanity!"

Another round of yay's and nay's as the Grand Provost Marshall, a well muscled man by the name of Harr Rantal, took the floor by standing. The Sigillite with a hand gesture formally giving him his turn to speak. Rantal much like Pentasian exclaimed the horrendous problems occurring in a dozen Sectors by the eighth legion's abrupt withdrawal.

Yet another round of affirmations and accusations before the Sigillite himself stood and speaking into a vox called a vote on the matter. It was almost a tie when Valdor, followed by Zhi-Ming entered the chamber. Nemo swiftly taking his seat and casting an 'yay' to bringing Eyrian to answer for his actions. While the Sigillite himself locked eyes with Valdor. The golden giant merely nodded. The Sigillite looking down at the vox for a moment as an adept tallied up the votes. Eyrian was to be censured and brought to make recompense in the name of the Imperium of Man. As to when the Sigillite carefully spoke into the vox. Speaking about waiting to do so until Titus has managed to report back on his meeting with Eyrian and if the 8th would return to the Great Crusade. Once the Greenskin menace was dealt with, the Custodes would make sure Eyrian was brought to Terra.

The doming ring of a bell and the session adjourned. Valdor nodded to the Sigillite as he maneuvered to the man. Both leaving the chamber together.

"Eyrian is dutiful. This is most unlike him." said Malcador with a hoarse whisper. His voice tired from the hours of talking and arguing.

Valdor merely looked on, "Should we do nothing we set a precedent for the Emperor's experiments to run amok. Titus authority will not be respected if Terra does not stand behind him."

"Constantin, I know you have misgivings about His choice in who should have been Warmaster."

"I do not think that title should have been created in the first place, Malcador," responded Valdor in apathy.

"The Emperor will call a council regarding recent events occurring across the Galaxy. But I am to head it in His stead. The Project comes first."

"Yes, of course, Sigilite."

Koriandar II
Ultima Segmentum
4.874-900.000M31

Angry shouts filled the air as a molotov crashed onto the hull of a rhino emblazoned with the symbol of the Adeptus Arbites. Hive Jullan burned. Koriandar II had been brought into compliance only two standard Terran years prior. The Sons of Calmora had been assisting in finally dealing the death blow to several insurgent organizations when they abruptly boarded their Stormbirds and left. Their ship breaking for Warp and returning no hails.

Since then Koriandar II has gone from bad to worse. The Arbites and the garrison of Imperial Army troops from the 44th Jantine Patricians were stretched thin. The local Imperial Militia to safeguard the planet had been infiltrated almost immediately by insurgents. It all had started with a ground car bomb detonating in the Plaza of Eyrian. Named after the 8th Legion's Primarch. Sixty-Two people died that day as the ground car plowed onto the packed pedestrian square and detonated it's smuggled plasma and fragmentation charges. Its hull additionally lined with ball bearings, nails, and shrapnel. Scything down dozens instantly and wounding scores more.

It got worse. Food and Water riots as the Planetary Governor, Efraim Feldstein, took increasingly drastic measures to curb increasingly rampant lawlessness and rioting. Curfew worked for a day. Then a pair of Arbites had been gun downed. The food and water rationing was an empty threat as insurgents cracked open water pipes and raided food warehouses. Hive Cor was wreathed in riots for a week as eighteen habitation blocks and thirty-seven manufactorum complexes were vandalized or gutted by fire as the natives took out their anger at anyone and anything not shouting their own cries.

The Arbites in the rhino which had been hit clambered out. Raising a leather armored glove to his mouth the Arbites spoke into the comm bead, "Enforcer Juilliard, Sector 13, to control. Rioters have blocked Highway 27. Desploying tear gas."

The Arbites pointed to the encroaching mob as the Rhino fired a pair of gas canisters from a module mounted to the top of the hull. Plumes of noxious gas spreading into fullblown clouds as the crowd seemed to retreat. The Highway connected two separate industrial zones with Habitation spire four.

A gunshot rang out and the Arbites ducked. The Arbites manning a rotary gun swiveled around and sprayed a warning barrage over the rioters heads. The rioters broke and ran. That was when the Arbites which had dismounted saw the smoke trail.

"Incom-!"

The rocket struck the turret. Blasting the Arbites manning it into fiery atoms. Knocking the Arbites on the ground to the pavement. Shouting and whistling as the violent mobs surged forth. The side mounted bolters whirled forward as they scythed down thirty individuals in a torrent of high caliber gunfire. Turning Human beings into red paste and chunks of flesh.

"Go! Go!" waved the Arbites on the ground as a second rocket almost struck the glacis plate of the Rhino.

A voice chirped over the comm bead. <<What are you doing! Get back in! We'll regroup at the Precin-.>>

A third rocket detonated on the top of the rhino. Fired from a balcony to the East. The Arbites on the ground could only watch as his compatriots cooked alive among the detonating munition stores.

"You on the wrong side of da stack Arb-."

The Arbites drew his service pistol and planted the bullet firmly in the skull of an onrushing rioter. Heaving himself onto his haunches the Arbites enforcer fired two more shots. Downing another rapidly approaching rioter. But more kept coming. From the hab stacks, from alleys, and areas to the side of the ground car highway. Hundreds in one mass of a giant mob flooded forth at the prospect of killing an Imperial Arbites officer.

The Arbites ran. Only turning to snap off a shot at the surging mob behind him. Racing down the highway the enforcer crashed through a window onto the flat of a stairwell. Moving down the steps with great leaps the man burst forth from the stairwell onto another level in the vast interlocking arcologies of the Hive city. Moving in the general direction of the closest precinct.

The roar of ground car engines could be heard and in the distance gunfire. To the North the night sky was lit by the twin moons of Koriandar II and the fierce firefight between a battalion of Jantine Patricians and insurgents. Each occupying opposing Arcologies and seemingly unable to dislodge the other. The Patricians were true soldiers. But they were outnumbered over a thousand to one.

"This is Juilliard, in need of immediate back-up. I repeat I need immediate e-."

"WWWWOOOO!"

The Arbites ducked as a ground car whizzed by. The whir of a ramshackle chain axe barely missing his helmet. The ground car swerved to have another go at him. The Arbites switched to full auto and mag dumped into the vehicle's cabin. Pulping the driver with five shots to the chest and face and at least one in the passenger seat behind him. Diving to the side as the vehicle turned wildly before crashing into a half destroyed market.

Hoots and hollers abounded as from the alleyways numerous individuals in the distinctive purple hair, black leather jackets, and inverted A of the Koriandar Slash-Kings gang emerged. One of the fastest growing and murderous gangs in Koriandar which had spread like wildfire. One of many supplied and trained by the insurgents whom had survived the 8th Legions initial compliance of the planet.

"This is Juilliard, request immediate back-up, fuck! I repeat re-."

<<Request acknowledged.>>

The enforcer paused at the metallic voice that had come through his comm bead. The roar of engines rapidly approaching as the Imperial enforcer readied for where the second ground car would come from. But it never emerged. Instead the sound came distinctly from above. Barely able to look up in time as an armoured figure crashed onto two of the nearest gang members. Crushing their bodies with spurts of gore as two tons of weight was dropped on top of them at high speed. Splattering their entrails like burst melons.

The whirring roar of a chain blade and the bark of a bolt pistol filled the air as twenty gang members were ruthlessly slaughtered before the enforcers eyes in a matter of seconds. Heads spun away from torsos on arcs of crimson, limbs crunched to the floor, and the howling calls of the gang were replaced by the gurgling fear of blood filling throats.

The figure turned, the bat symbol emblazoned on his pauldrons and chest plate. Astartes.

A Stormbird in similar regalia blasted overhead with all guns blazing. In the distance a squad of Astartes could be seen joining the fight to aid the Jantine Patricians.

The marine pointed with his Chain-Axe to the right of the Enforcer, the man swiveling his head in shock at the butchery he just witnessed, and there descending quickly was a landspeeder. The Enforcer didn't need a second indication and sprinted for the speeder. Clambering into the oversized seat as the Astartes pilot lifted the aerial vehicle back up and towards the nearest Arbites precinct.

The scenery was of increasing carnage. The arriving Astartes, though apparently quite few, were hewing paths of bloody slaughter through the ranks of rioters and looters alike. In Governor's Square a pair of Astartes unleashed a torrent of bolter fire that killed an entire mob of at least sixty in moments. On another highway a Stormbird let up an insurgent convoy in a hail of lascannon bolts.

Death Company had arrived on Koriandar II to dispense the Emperor's Justice.

Bridge of the Vengeful Spirit
Vasilisa Sanguina

Lazarus. Vasilisa had an internal sigh as one of her more eccentric brothers entered the Strategium with no announcement. As per his want. His flurry of questions was met first Angeline's answer and Clause. Vasilisa spared a side long glance for a moment before allowing a smile to spread upon her face.

"Warp-Xeno. They were effected by my presence and the denizens of the warp can know many things about a person, Angeline, Clause, I urge caution. Father has small patience regarding flippant applications of the Warp. As you well know, upon entering it, some beings therein can learn a great many things about one with their mind else where."

A mind, focused else where, was like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded. As so the adage Malcador was known to say frequently.

"As for you, Lazarus, brother," Vasilisa swiveled her eyes over to him. Her irises shining like the fairest of gemstones cut from the mountains of Valtmeris. A beautiful paradise world in the Hegemony, "Are you here to aid us in the fight against the resurgent Greenskins or are you here merely for your pet experiments?"

Any hint of annoyance would have been hard to discern in Vasilisa's voice. As would any positive emotion. She, much like her innate ability, appeared to be in unison today.

<<Tchaikovsky hailing The Vengeful Spirit>>

Vasilisa snapped her head up to look at an approaching void icon. Brother Nikolai's flagship was on an approach vector.

Vasilisa spoke to no one in particular, but full well knowing that her order would be followed immediately, "Open a channel. Tchaikovsky this is Primarch Vasilisa aboard The Vengeful Spirit. Go for response."

[Woodstovia]

Taeraylon, The Old Commander
The Sons of Heaven
Breath of Life

The scene upon the Command Room of The Breath of Life was truly something to behold. The full might of the Court of the Saved had been assembled. 9 Lord-Commanders, the full might of every company in the Sons of Heaven knelt together side-by-side. Each wore a cloak corresponding to their company, Naeyix wore the shimmering golden cloak of the First, the greatest of all companies for example, whereas Taeraylon, one of 2 remaining Terran Lord-Commanders wore the deep, ocean blue of the 5th. Unlike other war meetings, such as those hosted by the Vth legion there were no non-astartes present, the very idea seeming absurd to the Sons of Heaven, for lesser humans were simply expected to obey them without question.

Equerry Reynar stopped at the door and bowed, unable to enter the Court, and Sendrilon and Knight-Exemplar Lanius assumed their position upon the dais in front of the assembled officers. The Lord-Commanders remained completely stationary until Sendrilon grasped the Rod of Binding from its position across his throne. The Rod of Binding was an ancient Laeron myth, a staff which stole air from the gods and gave it to humans, and its use here symbolised Sendrilon bringing life to his legion.

Taeraylon had hated this at first, and a part of him still did. Why were they still talking about stories of ancient legends, of gods and heroes? Why did they continue to honour and revere symbols when in his eyes the Imperial Truth forbade it? Taeraylon had spoke at length to Lord-Chaplain Sendyscus about his worries. It was different from religion. He insisted they aren’t worshipping anything, they don’t even really believe it, it’s just reminding them of our father’s power. Most of all Taeraylon simply felt shame. He had not opposed the ritual at first, not wanting to question their newly found father, but now it was far too late to change anything and he had become a hypocrite who despite all his grumbling knelt upon entering the chamber and rose when Sendrilon took the damned Staff.

Sendrilon stood proudly as Knight-Exemplar Lanius descended from the dais, the Lord-Commanders rose and Lanius showed them a hologram of the legion’s battle plans. They were more aggressive than the Sons of Heaven’s usual briefings: since the Pale Ghouls had already set up defensive fortifications; the Sons of Heaven would focus on the breakthrough and using their mobility in an aggressive fashion. Taeraylon glanced at the images of human rebels, former Imperial Army regiments being rolled up from all sides by the Pale Ghouls and felt a distaste in his stomach. He could not imagine many rebels trapped by the Ghouls would be allowed to surrender.

“My lord.” he said, falling to a knee as required when one spoke to the Primarch. “Why do we not try peaceful reintegration first? Recently almost all of our conquests have come in this way and it would be more palatable to see former Imperial citizens returned to the fold peacefully rather than… This.” Taeraylon glanced up and saw fiery anger across Lanius’ face, but Sendrilon was smiling as if amused by the interruption and signalled for his son to stand back up.

“Unlike the past worlds we have had the honour of subjugating, these worlds were subjugated and now rebel. They have tasted the Imperium’s light and enjoyed a better life, and now choose to spit in our faces and murder loyalists. While peace is the noblest of goals, I do not hold peace in my heart for these people.” a rare hint of anger bled out of their Primarch upon these words and Taeraylon was momentarily shocked. “And our orders from Warmaster Titus tell us our duty is to “reinforce” the front, not necessarily to find peace. Now my dearest brother may have a limited vocabulary, but his words are supposed to be as powerful as Father’s and I will not disobey him.”

Taeraylon felt a pang of dismay when he heard his father’s insults for the Warmaster but he bowed his head and said nothing as the briefing ended. The various Lord-Commanders bowed and exited but as Taeraylon stepped out of the room he was stopped and confronted by Knight-Exemplar Lanius.

“What was that?” unlike with his father, Lanius’ rage was not a surprise to Taeraylon.

“I felt there could be a less costly way of ending these rebellions.” Taeraylon replied measuredly

“You think you know better than the Primarch?”

“No - of course I don’t. I know less than you my Lord, I just… For my conscience, I could not stay silent when I thought there was a better way of doing things."

“Next time you will keep your conscience in check.” growled Lanius “When you question our father you are insulting him, you are insulting his brother Lord Sarov whom he formulated these plans with, you are insulting The Emperor, beloved by all by insulting his sons. You are here by seniority Taeraylon. You have served with this legion for longer than any of us, but do not think you are the equal of the other officers, and do not suffer any illusions that there aren’t a hundred officers in the 5th company who can replace you. “

Taeraylon could feel a fire inside him, begging for him to punch Lanius’ stupid smirk off his face. But Taeraylon knew he could not, if he did Lanius would get exactly what he wanted. Taeraylon would be stripped of his rank and forgotten. He nodded his head and bowed to Lanius before getting off the Breath of Life as quickly as possible.

The Adam Kadmon lay behind the VII’s flagship and as Taeraylon’s Stormbird docked in its hangar bay he felt he could breathe a sigh of relief. This was where the 5th company’s court was held, and he felt more relaxed now knowing there was some distance between him and the upper-echelons of the legion.

He could remember what it was like with the Sons of Twilight, he was an officer even back then. Legion-Commander Kannick had been in command then. He had earned his position and was beloved by the officer corps but his war meetings were genuine meetings, fierce debate was not only allowed but encouraged. Obviously Sendrilon was the far greater commander and warrior and he loved him but he could never talk to Sendrilon, there was never the prospect of coming to a mutual agreement or working over a battle together. Sendrilon was too far above anyone for that.

The Old Commander could almost feel his bones creaking with age as he entered the 5th’s Court of the Saved. 10 regular Commanders awaited his report on the battle plan. Unlike the so-called lodges which were springing up in other legions, there was no possibility of members of the Sons of Heaven to speak freely amongst each other. Everyone’s rank was constantly displayed. Even here the Commanders were lined in the order of seniority. Taeraylon wondered if it was hard-coded into their gene-seed to produce hierarchies where there were none.

He glanced around the room and felt a sudden longing. He had almost forgotten, but Niases had been killed accidentally during a sparring match, a terrible loss. And now he realised every commander in the 5th was Laeron born. He did not dislike the Laeron - far from it. They were fierce fighters and the tactics of the legion were in their blood, they were used to wars of constant movement, they were fierce, and loyal, and when in combat they gave near-total obedience. But he never knew what they were thinking or how to read them, their refined and elegant accents easily turned to arrogance, and they could speak in ways only fellow Laerons understood, they seemed aghast at some of the legion’s older traditions and had no objections to new rituals springing up. He loved them dearly, but Taeraylon could not escape the feeling that campaign after campaign something was being lost within his legion.

[Endem]

Nikolai
Aboard the Tchaikovsky
On Approach Vector

Many other void icons would appear, behind the one which signified the Tchaikovsky, to the Vengeful's Spirit, and furthermore, the fleets of several legions could mean one thing, almost half of the Immortal Scourge's fleet has arrived near them. The bridge of Tchaikovsky was dimly lit, with only the small greenish lights of various machines shining onto gothic decorations surrounding them.

"Open a channel. Tchaikovsky this is Primarch Vasilisa aboard The Vengeful Spirit. Go for response."

The voice of Nikolai's sister could be heard throughout the bridge, the operator of the vox communicators shot a glance, at one of the nearby officers, as if asking for instructions on what to say. The officer did not give any, instead Nikolai suddenly appeared behind the operator

"This is Primarch Nikolai, we have come to aid you against the green menace, I am asking for permission to come aboard the Vengeful Spirit"

Nikolai's voice, was as always somewhat distorted, stretching out the a's, o's, and e's unnaturally, and in between words the sound of his heavy, flat breathing could be heard. The message was promptly sent to the Vengeful Spirit. Anatoliy, the marine who previously given Nikolai the reports, and the newly nominated personal aide of Nikolai shuffled in the backgroundnd, as if he wanted to say something, Nikolai noticed it, but decided he would ignore it for now.

[Lunas Legion]

Uriel Febua
World Designate 100-09
Ultima Segmentum

World Designate 100-09 was burning. Uriel could see the columns of smoke from where he stood, standing atop an ash-covered hill, looking down over the remains of a burning city. Orks, for all their tenacity in battle and eagerness for it, also possessed an irritating ability to continue the fight even once their forces had been slaughtered in the open field. No, the xenos would have to be hunted down and burned, every last ork found and killed, the body burned.

For as long as one ork survived, more would come over time. And more, and more, until the problem had to be resolved by the Imperial Army, Solar Auxilia, or in the worst cases, the Legions.

"You seem in a rare contemplative move, brother." Uriel turned at the voice of Brother Azat, the leader of the largest single warband among the hundreds that had gathered under his banner for this campaign.

"Contemplating the future." Uriel said. "You know what I speak of."

"I do." The Terran bowed his head slightly. "To tell the truth, it is something some of us had begun to consider ourselves." He slammed a gauntlet-clad fist against his chest-plate. "We are the Brazen Beasts, but what use is there for a beast when there is nothing left to fight? We either grow old and weak, or-"

"We are put down." Uriel growled.

"We were going to bring it up with you, Brother, but Eyrian's withdrawal gave us hope for this Crusade lasting a few years longer." Azat said, tucking his bolter under his arm. "But perhaps it is better we begin to make preparations now, as against our nature as it is."

"War is a beast, Azat." Uriel said. "The Crusade has been unleashed since before we were born, but Atlas' war, that beast is chained yet." He grinned viciously. "And you do not unchain a beast without ensuring it will go where you wish as much as you can. War is the most opportunistic and carnaptious of beasts."

"You're being rather... Wordy today, Brother." Azat said.

"I can be as poetic as I like. I dislike it being used when it is not needed." Uriel said. "I might be a warrior, but I am not an idiot. Maybe thinking of the war to come has brought something out of me."

"Maybe." Azat shrugged. "It is a war none of us want to fight, but we understand why. We die standing."

"Indeed, brother." Uriel looked skywards, where the faint dark presences of the Brazen Beasts loomed overhead. "Victory or defeat, we will die standing at a time and place of our choosing. Not because someone ordered us to be put down."

---

Undar System
Indrania Stratia Megasa
Ultima Segmentum

The warp spat out Indrania's hodge-podge fleet on the edge of the system, but it did not remain idle for long as a single ship, the golden war-galleass of the Ordo Reductor that had joined her fleet moving ahead of her fleet before vanishing in a burst of purple-pink energy. The Ordo Reductor answered to few; they reminded Indrania of the Rogue Traders, roaming ahead of Expeditionary Fleets as scouts, but the Ordo Reductor did not simply scout worlds and bring them into compliance. It sought out the worst battlefields, the strongest fortresses, the worst crises against which to bring their might and knowledge to bear.

So Indrania watched the ship vanish with a frown. It was understandable, its departure given her halt in this small system was to give her time to look over the situation and to analyse where her force might be best sent, that and to await the arrival of other elements of the Phalanx that would no doubt be arriving over time, as they extracted themselves from their own campaigns without compromising the progress they had made. The Imperial Army and Solar Auxilia could hold a siege line almost as well as Marines, and she trusted her field commanders judgement on the matter far more than her own distant perspective.

She would have to be careful with her choice of warzone; Titan Legions saw it as beneath them to fight anything but another Titan or an equivalent, like the Ork Stompa or Gargant, Scoria had told her, and although they would do it, the Principes of the God-Machines would only take so much of being forced to do such battles. Still, she had time to consider her options while she awaited more forces to trickle in.