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The Chosen Few [IC|40K]

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Skaldia
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Founded: Jun 30, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

The Chosen Few [IC|40K]

Postby Skaldia » Thu Mar 12, 2020 8:56 pm

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“Mortals cannot win war with what is eternal.”
Theme
OOC

The Imperial Fleet burned in the void, caught between a perfectly calculated ambush in the Kythonar Gulf. Calthanir Kaeduin watched an Imperial warship break apart from the bridge of the Hammer of Vaul in front of the deep blue light of the Beroi, the star of this remote system on the edge of the Gulf.

The Anhrathe had struck the Imperial Fleet just as it had translated into the system, isolating and destroying each ship with brilliant strokes that had the fleet completely destroyed. Unfortunately, not the hated mon keigh masters were with the Fleet. But it had given the Anhrathe great pleasure nonetheless in having destroyed so many humans, to be on the offensive when too long they had only tried to defend themselves and what was theirs.

Calthanir turned back to face the silent crew of Anhrathe, all of them focused on the Prince. Behind him, Beroi provided a sapphire glow to outline the figure of the Corsair Prince. The silence was pregnant with unspoken words. But it was Calthanir's place to give words to these moments. He spoke slowly, words flowing around his men and women, eloquently for the moment and tinged with the psychic might so prevalent among the Aeldari.

”Today, we stop the mon keigh from spreading their tendrils in to this sector. But make no mistake, more are coming. And here we will make our stand. We have lost too much too soon. Too many of our kin have been lost, too many of our Maidens turned to Crones by the Great Devourer. Only to see the mon keigh descend like the scavengers they are! No more, I say. Today, we send a message to the mon keigh that we are Aeldari! And this part of the galaxy is ours!”

There was no cheering among them. The Brotherhood knew enough of what had not been said between the words spoken. There would be no stopping the mon keigh. Them and their hated Imperium was too strong for the Aeldari to win this war or any to follow. Fatalism had curled it's heart about the majority of them, choking out hope. No longer did they concern themselves with the after, instead wishing only to kill as many of the humans before dying themselves. And thus no one challenged the proclamation of their Prince, grim faces all turned towards Calthanir.

All the same, Prince Calthanir knew what his people felt, feeling the wash of their despair breaking upon the tide of his resolve. It broke his heart to see the once proud people he had led for so long reduced to such a state, but could not fault them for it. What they did not know though of what their Prince planned. They saw this as a glorious last stand of the Brotherhood, a final fight that had endured for thousands of years.

Calthanir had other plans.


The Emperor's Word had been sent. More than a dozen Primarchs had been recalled to gather at Dolgota, a world just taken by the 5th and 8th Legions, torn from the grasp of the hated ork. It was the largest gathering of Primarchs ever to occur since the onset of the Great Crusade, and not a few of those Legions would be wary of what their Father intended.

Some Legions would not be able to heed the call of the their Emperor, busy as they were in campaigns that required their attention.
Others had been waiting for such a call.

Icarion opened his eyes. The Chamber of Meditation, buried deep in the heart of the Thunderchild thrummed with psychic focusing crystals as Icarion stretched forth his mind's eye to peer through space and time. Unfortunately, as was increasingly becoming the case, he saw nothing but fire and blood. It was an auspicious omen that did nothing to reveal anything he needed to know. While he had been able to perceive that his Father would be calling upon the 1st Legion to go to war soon, he did not realize that it would be for over a dozen of his Brothers as well.

He had been incredulous of the information as it had been relayed to him by the Astropath, but he was in no position to doubt it either. It made
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sense though for the Legions to gather at Dolgota. A world recently taken by the 5th and 8th Legions, the ork filth had been wiped from it's surface and a Triumph had been held to celebrate the battles hard fought. Icarion thought it had been prideful vanity to hold such a celebration. He had not held a single celebration for any of the many campaigns and battles his Legion he had held, not even after the Xenocides and Incursions. He merely had to look at the roll of honors as testament to his and the 1st's victories. But he knew many among his Primarchs did not hold such views as he did.

He came out of the lotus position, feet touching cold steel floor for the first time in several hours. As soon as his feet touched the floor, the soft glow of lights illuminated the room. A hiss of depressurization as the door opened and Raiden Athrawes stepped in. He bowed from the waist. Unlike his Primarch, the Marshal and Equerry was bedecked in his armor, ready to stride forth in war and glory. With an almost imperceptible nod from Icarion, Raiden straightened and spoke to his Primarch."We're about to translate in to the Dolgota system, my Lord. What are your orders?"

"I shall land on the surface with you by my side. No others."

"Do you feel that wise, my Lord?" Unlike in other Legions, Icarion promoted an open mind and encouraged his officers to speak their minds to their superior officers. In other Legions, it would be viewed as sacrilege to question the word of a Primarch. In the 1st, it was par for the course.

"We are the 1st, Raiden. No need to remind my Brothers and Sisters of that." He said with a smile, patting the Marshal on the pauldron of his armor as he stepped forward."Besides, our Father is there." With the Emperor of Mankind on the surface of Dolgota, nothing in the galaxy would dare threaten such a meeting.

The Thunderchild translated into the Dolguta System to find the Sun Angels and Sons of Calmora fleet already assembled in a protective ring around the primary planet of the system. Icarion was relieved to have found them in such a manner, especially with the system on the edge of newly conquered Imperial space. Although he would not say such to them or anyone else. He was also relieved to have found that, from the powerful auspex array, that the Lightning Bearers were the first to arrive in the system, excluding that of the 5th and 8th.

The Gloriana Class Battleship was followed only by a small escort. Most of the Legion Fleet had been left in the nearby Kaloss System, still licking their wounds after having destroyed the Abominable Intelligence. When and if, Icarion would recall them for this campaign.

Icarion and Raiden boarded an Ash Phoenix Gunship which bore them to the surface of Dolgota. As they neared the ruins in what had been deemed the Palace of Princes, Icarion was alerted that other Legion fleets were translating in to the system, on the heels of the 1st Legion.
As they came out of atmosphere, Icarion and Raiden viewed the world coming up to meet them. A world of green fields and green seas, it was no wonder the Orks had fought so tenaciously to hold on to the planet. Here and there, to break the verdant monotony, was what appeared to be the ruins of great cities dotting the surface. From what had been told to Icarion, the Princes of Dolgota had ruled their world fairly and justly, the people well fed and happy. This had all changed with the arrival of the Orks. Now, only the ruins of their great works remained, as evidenced by the massive Spires that dominated each city.

One such city didn't have just one spire like the rest. No, this one contained a dozen, with another half dozen having fallen to ruin. Spread out around the massive ruins of the city was a virtually new city of camps stretching to the horizon, temporary home for millions of men and women that had brought this world into the Imperium. Even from their high altitude, the bright lights of celebration and fireworks illuminated the night. Despite disapproving of the minor Triumph, the sight brought a smile to Icarion's lips.

The Palace of Princes was the tallest Spire on the planet, reaching near a kilometer in height and reminding Icarion of the Kartyg spire cities, although this spire was far more robust and made of steel, stone, and glass. Near the top of the spire, landing pads large enough for several gunships had been built by orks and then reinforced and improved upon by Imperial forces. Icarion was disheartened to see no sign of the Emperor or his gunship. Instead, the only ships seemed to be exclusively that of the Sons of Calmora and Sun Angels.

As the Ash Phoenix touched down, Icarion strode forth from the gunship, the ramp touching metal almost as soon as Icarion's feet did. He was armored in his panoply of war, sans the Thunderchild in his hands. Likewise, Raiden was bedecked in his finery except he was armed, unlike his Primarch. While it might have appeared that Icarion was without weapons, they would have forgotten the mind that made Icarion a far more deadly opponent than any weapon could do. To meet his arrival stood Elyrian Manuxus and Vasilisa Sanguina, the former towering over the latter. Luckily, it seemed that the powers that had made Vasilisa infamous in the 1st were not active, otherwise Icarion and Raiden would have been hurriedly returning to the Ash Phoenix as fast as their legs could carry them. Meanwhile, Elyrian glowered in all of his towering majesty. Icarion's younger brother was well renowned for his ferocity but, like the proud Giant Calmoran Elk, it was difficult to rouse him to such wrath.

While Raiden remained several feet behind Icarion, the 1st Primarch strode forth and embraced his siblings, clapping Elyrian on his massive bicep and gripping forearms in a warrior's greeting with Vasilia. Upon his face was a grim smile for, while he was gladdened to have see his siblings, it was only through the business of war and their Father's summoning did they once more meet. When the greetings were done, Icarion stepped back,"Elyrian. Vasilia. It has been too long. Where is our Father?" He did not feel the need to mince words with his brother and sister, and no doubt they would approve of the bluntness Icarion so rarely exhibted.

"He has not yet arrived." Elyrian rumbled, obviously perturbed by having to be the bearer of such ill news.

Icarion frowned, tapping his chin before exhaling through his nose."No matter. Knowing our Father, he will arrive at precisely the right time to do so." He waved forward towards the darkened recess of the Spire."By all means, lead on. No doubt, our Brothers will be arriving just soon."

While Elyrian was chosen to greet each new Primarch, Vasilia acted as escort to Icarion and Raiden as they delved into the Spire. Here and there were signs of combat, a missing chunk of masonry there, a hole in the wall there. Upward, they tread in a slow spiral around the edge of the Spire until they entered a massive chamber. The chamber was surrounded in the ruins of great statues of the fallen Princes, stern in their armor and weapons. At the base of each statue sat simple black granite thrones, dozens of them forming a ring around the center of the Chamber. The ceiling, what was left of it, had been intricate glass work bereft of any scroll work or image. Instead, only the light of the stars and the false stars of warships served to illuminate the chamber. To make up for the lack of light, glowglobes had been placed strategically around the Chamber. Despite that, the room was a darkened affair, intimate and foreboding all at once.

Icarion took his seat near the central dais where no doubt the Emperor would take his place. While he sat there, musing on what was to be, several Imperial Army officers came in. As was their place, they took seats on the outer, higher ring of thrones, chatting among themselves. Vasilia took a seat opposite Icarion. Raiden, for his part, took a position near the entrance.

The first to arrive was Oberon, looking surly and unhappy for having touched ground in probably years. Followed quickly on his heels was Igneous, reminding Icarion of a thunderhead in the distance, calm and serene in the distance only. Next came Miztli Huitzilihuitl, a mysterious Primarch who, like Icarion, led from the front. Cyprig Lusssard was next, a wide smile on his face. Luckily, he wasn't butchering someone while he was doing it but the evening was young. Remigius followed Cyprig, as was usually the case after Cyprig got done with a planet. Remigius appeared solemn for the occasion. Next came Nikolai Szaraczkiewicz, jaw set in stern contemplation of all that around him. Titus Ironborn was next, face hidden behind his helmet, forever stained by his censuring. Mercaekha Taristus was right on his heels, Icarion sensing secrets flourishing about the Third Primarch, Next to last was Samael, more mysterious than Miztli and rarely seen. And the last, fashionably late and escorted by Elyrian, was Napoli. Which was fitting, the largest escorting the smallest.

When they had all gathered and took their seats, each Primarch fell into chatting with the other, each one debating on what the meeting would entail while the Imperial Army and Armada officers did the same. Some Primarchs and officers sat in silent contemplation while others seemed to have a flood of words they needed to get out. Icarion remained silent, eyes glancing from each one of his siblings to the next. Of the Primarchs not called, no representative of their Legions had arrived. From that, Icarion could only surmise that the reason for this meeting was to discuss the current state of the Great Crusade and new fronts to be opened up.

Suddenly the lights in the Chamber seemed to brighten. Icarion turned to face the entrance. Soon, the marching of feet could be heard. In strode forth two of the mighty Adeptus Custodes, each one taking a flanking position beside the entrance. Raiden was forced to abdicate his place and took a seat near the door. However, instead of being greeted with the sight of their Father, in strode Malcador the Sigilite, moving slowly, face hooded beneath his cloak, the tap of his staff the only sound echoing from the walls as Malcador took his place at the center of the Chamber.

After a brief moment, Malcador looked up and threw his hood back, his piercing eyes finding each man and woman in the Great Chamber before speaking."Our Emperor sends his regrets that he could not come, but urgent matters aboard the Bucephelus keep him from attending. My Lord Primarchs, I come forward with grave news. The 78th and 901st Expeditionary Fleets, near here in the Kythonar Gulf, have been completely destroyed. No survivors." Malcador held up a hand to forestall the cries of outrage and denial." We believe this to be the work of Xenos, more specifically that of the Eldar. This is no doubt in an attempt to keep us from the Ishariel Sector. Instead of accomplishing that goal, however, the Emperor has ordained the Sector be cleansed of all life in retaliation for the loss of two fleets and for the repeated transgressions of the Eldar."
Last edited by Skaldia on Fri Mar 13, 2020 12:48 am, edited 1 time in total.
||“The lesson of history is that no one learns.”
||“Witness.”||
||“Chaos needs no allies, for it dwells like a poison in every one of us.”

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The Empire of Tau
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Empire of Tau » Thu Mar 12, 2020 10:46 pm

“Two whole fleets? Surprising. Well, we do have lots to talk about.” Samael states, a rare time that he does speak to the other Primarchs. Samael feels indifferent to his brothers and sisters. He neither hates or loves them, and that also goes for Malcador. Everyone in this room knows this. The Primarch of Azure Rain also did not care that his father did not come. Malcador did state that the whole Ishariel Sector should be cleansed. Now, Samael had two ideas on what that means. Either wipe out all bloody life within the whole sector by massive orbital bombardment while trying to fight off the Eldar fleets, or commit to a slower massive campaign to take ground and secure each planet. If anything, Samael wishes for the latter. Afterall, these are rich resource worlds with barely any humans on it. One can easily just bomb a planet to all hell and then simply extract the resources within the planet. The Admech can send its many legions of human-cyborgs to make these planets into quarry-worlds, and that would be that. Samael was already busy as is, like most of his brothers and sisters. Samael had a list of things to do, mainly requests by the Admech and Imperial Administration to clear out sectors for them, and likewise.

“What you mean by cleansed? Do you want these worlds to be void of life in total? We can do that for you. These planets can easily be turned into quarry-worlds in the aftermath. No need to be kind to the wildlife and people here. Besides, there are plenty of other habitable worlds.” Samael states. Odd that Samael would be talking this much to the other Primarchs as Samael himself would be isolated from the others for months or even years from the other Primarchs while on campaign in other sectors. Normally, Samael has others do the talking while Samael plans and talks with his officers. Samael's voice was deep, raspy, and not so smooth.

“I assume you have a plan for us, Malcador? Of course, I don’t mind to plan for the whole campaign right now. It’ll simply be annoying to delay ourselves while we decide what to do. The overall goal is to burn the Eldar into dust. I understand that, but we need finer details to the whole campaign."
Last edited by The Empire of Tau on Thu Mar 12, 2020 10:48 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Endem
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Endem » Fri Mar 13, 2020 4:49 am

Nikolai

Some Time Ago
Gloriana-Battleship "Tchaikovsky"


Nikolai sat in his private cabins, walls adorned with his private memorabilia, a few screws, everything left of the home he grew up in, a armored glove, the only thing left of Andrei, a tattered banner, everything he carried with him from Osowiec armies, then there were the less personal ones, various trinkets he collected on the worlds Iron Sentinels conquered had made the landscape of his personal shelves look like a junkyard.

He sat on small chair, which contrasted greatly the figure of the primarch, adorned in flowery patterns with bright colours, coming from a now nearly extinct Russian culture, where most of his marines were recruited from, before him, on a small stool sat his mask, he wore it always when he was in public, mourning his adoptive brother, he will always mourn him, breaking it, only in the unlikely event of Andrei's resurrection, but such a feat is impossible for anyone.

Nikolai then put on his featureless mask, blocking the world from seeing his scared face, he did so right in time as a space marine of his entered his chamber "My Tz-" begun the marine but was swiftly interrupted by Nikolai "Just Nikolai" he softly said, the marine after this continued "Nikolai" the space marine started with confusion in his voice, after all he wasn't a captain or a chapter master, but was newly christened marine, just a year prior he was still a Kazak and a Neophyte.

"If you struggle with Nikolai" begun Nikolai, letting the marine gulp in fear "then Father will suffice", he finished, relieved hearing the marine's sigh of relief, and thus once again the marine began the marine, "Father, the astropath had received a message" with a subtle nod the marine was insteucted to continue "The Emperor has called for our legion to head for Dolgota immidietly" Nikolai then stood up "signal the navigator" he commanded and the marine then ran off, to fulfill his primarch order

Present Day
The Spire

He looked at Malcador from behind the featureless mask of his, he wore it for he always mourned and will always mourn the loss of his adoptive brother, waiting until Samael will finish his sentences Nikolai spoke briefly, as always being laconic, "You don't tell everything" he then waited for a second "so speak of it" he added.

The armored Primarch then once again went silent and unmoving, perhaps it was due to his nature, or perhaps it was because he was unaccustomed to moving or speaking too much, when on frontlines the Iron Sentinels had such a simple plan that was practiced so much not much speaking was required at times in battle only two words would come out of Nikolai's mouth.

And even though this was not a battle, Nikolai didn't drop his laconic way of speaking, as by now it was signature of a primarch and he was simply too used to it, having been required to speak in such a manner ever since he first joined the army on Osowiec, ah, those were perhaps the happiest days of his life, sometimes in private Nikolai likes to think what would be if he was never found, if the Imperium never came to Osowiec.
Last edited by Endem on Sat Mar 14, 2020 6:41 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Nothing to see here

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Union Princes
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Founded: Nov 02, 2017
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Union Princes » Fri Mar 13, 2020 8:46 am

Legacy of the Little Lion #1

As soon as the Emperor’s word reached his Gloriana-class capital ship, Corsicam, Napoli knew his presence must be immediate. Most of his older brothers and sisters will be present there as well. This is a chance to finally meet with Father and earn his favor. Napoli could only smile to himself. All the hard work he has been doing with his legion and in his sector would finally bear fruit when the Emperor smiles upon him. It would wipe the smug grins off the faces of his older siblings. But no time to be brooding delightful thoughts, Napoli made it clear to his subordinates: the Corsicam must make haste to Dolgota. In fact, so confident of his soon-to-be congratulations from the Emperor, Napoli brought his entire legion to the planet so they could bear witness to the spectacle.

Napoli’s rage, however, was impalpable. His hands clenched into a fists when he saw all the other capital ships belonging to his older siblings. This only meant one thing: he was the last one to arrive. He wanted to crush an Ork to calm his nerves down but his siblings have already done that for him when they conquered this planet. It’s as if fate toys with his expectations and Napoli did not like that.


While his fleet remained in orbit, Napoli landed with two Terminators of his Old Guard as his bodyguards. They towered above him at 10ft much to the confusion of Napoli’s pride and annoyance. As for consolation, they were slightly taller than most Space Marines from other legions but still shorter than Elyrian, Napoli’s tallest brother, when he was outside ready to greet his baby brother.

“You two can remain here.” Napoli commanded his Terminators. “I will go with my brother.” even if he didn’t want to.

While they walked to the meeting located in the Palace of Princes, Napoli could not help but make one remark to Elyrian. “Father should have sent me as well to aid you, I know I’m ready.”


It seems fate was really toying with him, instead of the Emperor, it’s his regent that showed up. While the other primarchs were on the subject of Eldar, half of Napoli’s mind was one his frustration of missing the chance of meeting his beloved father. But nonetheless, his mood swung positive when the regent spoke of the Emperor demanding retribution on the Eldar. Finally, a chance to prove his worth.

“If the Emperor demands it to be done,” Napoli yelled from his seat. “Then by his will, it shall be done! The Imperium will not be humiliated by this act of cowardice. Father just needs to send the word, The Emperor’s Talons will make short work of the Eldar!”
Last edited by Union Princes on Fri Mar 13, 2020 10:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
There is no such thing as peace, only truce between wars

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Reverend Norv
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Founded: Jun 20, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Reverend Norv » Fri Mar 13, 2020 10:31 am

Remigius had landed a mile or so from the spire and walked in. Around him, Imperial Army troops watched the fireworks, and barbecued local animals over campfires, and drank beer. Once, he passed a small group of Hospitallers. Towering over the ordinary men around them, they manned an aid station. Just because there were no civilians on Dolgota, it did not mean that there was no healing to be done after the world was taken.

The marines noticed the massive figure of their primarch, dressed in a plain brown robe instead of glimmering armor. They offered respectful nods in greeting. Remigius returned the courtesy. Then the Hospitallers went back to work, gauntleted hands moving gently over the bodies of the wounded soldiers.

"Who do you suppose they were?" Lukas Sollis was looking up at the spire overhead. Remigius did not have a single long-term equerry; he liked to give as many officers as possible the chance to meet other primarchs and experience top-level decision-making. Captain Sollis was sharp and curious and had been a Discimen Ranger before he took the Trials and became a Hospitaller. He still wrote home to his mother. Remigius liked him a lot.

"Men like us," the primarch replied after a moment. He jogged up the steps to the spire. The Sons of Calmora who stood guard at the door squinted for a moment at the towering stranger in his simple clothes, and then recognized Remigius and stepped aside. Inside, Remigius breathed in the cool of the ancient stone. "Proud, cruel, hopeful, caring. Just men, Lukas."

The captain nodded after a moment. "Everyone looks the same, open on the operating table." It was a Hospitaller proverb, emphasizing the ultimate equality of human beings.

"Everyone but us," Remigius replied softly. He squared his shoulders to the great staircase at the center of the spire, and started to climb.

Some minutes later, Remigius followed Cyprig Lussard into the throne room at the apex of the spire. The two primarchs - one in his bat-like black gothic armor, the other in a plain brown robe - could not have cut a greater contrast. Remigius saw a vein pulse gently in Lukas' temple as the captain looked at the Night Haunters primarch. Vasilisa and Icarion were already seated next to each other, their ornate armor shimmering, and Remigius nodded a greeting to his older siblings. Oberon, his face hidden behind his visor, stood silently nearby. Igneous leaned on his massive axe, and Miztli Huitzilihuitl waited, leopard-still.

Remigius looked up at the mighty stone statues that stood behind each throne. He wondered how many ork warlords had lounged in the shadows of this ancient glory. He thought for a moment about the history he had learned, after he had been torn from the verdant simplicity of Discimen: all the endless millennia, reduced inexorably to dust and memory. Who now recalled the names of the Princes of Dolgota? And was it anything but arrogance for the primarchs who sat on their thrones to expect any greater degree of immortality?

The thought did not bother Remigius overmuch. He was a healer. When he died, there would be a lot of people whose lives had been saved because of him. He wondered whether Icarion or Igneous would be as willing to give up the hope of immortal glory.

Remigius took his seat. The stone throne was cold against his back, even through his robe. Lukas took up his place at the primarch's shoulder. "Is he coming?" the captain murmured.

"I did not see his ship," Remigius replied quietly. "But - "

Right on cue, two warriors of the Adeptus Custodes marched into the throne room. Remigius felt Lukas go taut with excitement beside him. And then - in walked a small, hooded figure, moving painstakingly and leaning on a staff. Lukas' disappointment was palpable, but Remigius felt something relax and uncoil in his own stomach.

It's never easy seeing him. He never wants to hear what I have to say. And I give myself an ulcer with trying not to say it. No, better to hear from the Sigilite - however disappointing for Captain Sollis.

Malcador threw back his hood and stared around the room. Remigius offered a small, tolerant smile; the Sigilite had always had a flair for the dramatic. "Our Emperor sends his regrets that he could not come," Malcador declared, "but urgent matters aboard the Bucephelus keep him from attending."

No further explanation was offered. He does not think we deserve any. The recognition was wearily familiar, and Remigius pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Sigilite had more to say. "My Lord Primarchs, I come forward with grave news. The 78th and 901st Expeditionary Fleets, near here in the Kythonar Gulf, have been completely destroyed. No survivors." Some of the Imperial Army officers in the room cried out in horror; a muscle flickered in Remigius' jaw, and he leaned forward, suddenly intent on Malcador's words. "We believe this to be the work of Xenos, more specifically that of the Eldar. This is no doubt in an attempt to keep us from the Ishariel Sector. Instead of accomplishing that goal, however, the Emperor has ordained the Sector be cleansed of all life in retaliation for the loss of two fleets and for the repeated transgressions of the Eldar."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Samael spoke, his tone calmly reasonable as he suggested burning the whole sector to ash from orbit and then strip-mining the devastation that was left. Nikolai challenged the Sigilite to elaborate, his words curt from behind his mask. And Napoli declared that the Emperor's Talons would make short work of the Eldar. Remigius sighed and rubbed his forehead, and searched for the words.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, firm, gentle: the voice of a doctor at the patient's bedside. "My heart is sore for the families of the Imperial Navy today." The primarch shook his head. "But it would be folly to see the trap sprung once, and then to walk into it again. We need reconnaissance." Remigius glanced at Samael. "And reconnaissance means landing troops on these planets. So it might be wise to refrain from burning them to a crisp." The primarch's grey-green eyes moved back to Malcador. "If this is the will of the Emperor, the Hospitallers will see it done. But planning and preparation are a surer path to victory than pride and vengeance."

For a moment, Remigius glanced up again at the statues of long-lost Princes. I wonder: if you had learned that lesson, would you still be here?
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647

A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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Revlona
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Founded: Jan 23, 2017
Father Knows Best State

Postby Revlona » Fri Mar 13, 2020 11:33 am

Elyrian Manuxus
The Elk King
Primarch of the 8th Legion
Sword of the Emperor


The battle in these halls had been long, bloody, and fierce. For three hours Elyrian and his Knights of the Elk had battled tooth and nail in these halls that the Primarchs now conversed in. They had cornered the Ork warlord known as Gork Ribbrekka here in this spire of the princes, and like any cornered animal, his fight proved fierce. He had ruled what was once the Dolgota Ork Empire, and empire which he forged on the bones of those humans he had slaughtered in the billions. Retribution had come for him some 50 years later, retribution in the forms of the 5th and 8th legions of the Imperium of Man, the son and daughter of the emperor of mankind themselves had come to exterminate Gork and his foul empire.

It had required two long and bloody years of fighting to reduce Gorks empire into a single planet, and another month of fighting to reduce it even further into this single city. The entire time, Gork had commanded his forces from this spire, the tallest building on the planet, and it was in this spire that he met his death upon the Elk Kings blade.

A month and a half prior



"Forward! Into the breach! For the Emperor and Calmora!" Elyrian roared as he brandished his axe in a circular motion, goading his Knights forwards. They had landed upon the Great Spire that the Xeno Warlord had been using as he base, 3 dozen of Calmoras finest, all equipped with the finest arms and armor now strode forwards, shields in one hand and great power swords in the other. They closed with the guards of Ribrekka as those great beasts howled in joy at the idea of a fight. Dozens and Dozens of the great beasts flooded from the doorway that led to the spire. The Knights of the Elk charged to meet them in their terminator armor.

"Push forward! To the stairs and lifts! We must not allow him a chance to escape!" Elyrian roared as he himself waded into the melee, and angel of death as every swing of his great blade snuffed out the life force of several Orks. The Orks never even managed to land a blow upon the great Primarch, any that he himself did not deflect were met by the shields that had been imbued into his armor, and any more were stopped by his sons whom had sworn their lives to protecting his own.

"KILL THEM, KILL THESE FOUL BEASTS THAT DARE TO STRIKE AT YOU. RIP THEIR UGLY HEADS FROM THEIR SHOULDERS AND LET THEM WATCH AS THEY DIE!!!" A deep and booming voice shouted within Elyrians head. The same voice which his sons most likely heard now, he could see how they tensed as it roared in their helms. Elyrian knew he needed to bring them back on mission, seeing how they had been caught off guard by the voices sudden return just as he was. It was something worth investigating a part of his mind realized, that now of all times when the 8th was separated from their long time comrades in arms in the 5th that the voice spoke again.

"Men, my sons! We fight for Calmora and the Emperor, not for this voice! Ignore it and do not heed its words! Forward, Sons of Calmora Forward!!" Elyrian shouted, his voice echoing off the halls of the spire as they slowly fought their way through the entrance. His axe ending Ork lives with every swing, the brute strength and sheer elegance with which he handled the blade spelled the end to any foe that dared attempt to meet the primarch in battle.

"The stairs! Up the stairs! He will be atop the spire!" The Primarch roared, his ranks having been thinned to only 2 dozen of the terminator clad Knights. He allowed a part of his mind to worry over his lost sons, but felt joy as the vox chatter confirmed that only one of the fallen were dead and the rest could be saved. He allowed a smile to play across his face as he took the steps of the long circular staircase. batting a feeble swing away with his shield before impaling the large ork that had swung the blade with the tip of the spike that adorned his axe. The Elk king watched grimly, the smile disappearing from his face as the great brute slid himself from the spike and went to swing at the Primarch again. This swing was even more futile than the first as the head of the Ork exploded from a well placed bolter shell.

"Caution now my sons, the brutes we have met so far are only the cannon fodder, the Warlord and his bodyguards will be much more formidable opponent.." Elyrian began before being cut off.

"YES THEY WILL BE, ALLOW ME TO HELP, GIVE ME ONE OF YOU, JUST ONE IS ALL I ASK.." The voice said, sounding as close to a purr as it could.

"BEGONE VOICE, YOU SHALL NOT CORRUPT US!!" One of the Knights shouted from behind Elyrian. The group awaited the voices response, but none came and a sense of dread began to build up in Elyrian as he knew that something bad was going to occur atop the spire. But he was a Son of the Emperor and had a duty to preform.

The staircase had emptied, the last Ork falling dead before them as they reached the throne room, the highest room in the spire. And at the other end of the throne room stood Ribbrekka and his dozen bodyguards. No words were exchanged as Elyrian and his sons entered, fanning out into a loose formation as they did so. The two sides stared at each other from across the room, both men and ork shifting uncomfortably, unsure on how this would start, but knowing how it would end, for a Son of the Emperor had come to challenge their rule, and none could stand before him.

"Shall we?" Elyrian growled as he started forward at a run which soon evolved into a sprint. He could hear the sounds of his sons charging forward behind him, and smiled as he came to the conclusion that the War would soon end as he watched the orks begin to run at him. He dodged the first wild swipe of the bodyguard that first reached him before his own blow separated the beasts lower and upper torsos from each other. Elyrian barreled through a second bodyguard, hearing a crack as he rolled over the Ork and came face to Face with ribbrekka.

The ork roared at him before swinging his massive power claw at the Primarch. Elyrian caught the blow on his shield and guided it towards the ground. He began to dismay as he felt himself begin to anger, red beginning to tint to outer reaches of his vision.

"YES..." The voice growled lustfully

"No!" Elyrian shouted, panic beginning to take him as the red began to flow across his vision faster, he watched as his limbs, no longer fully controlled by himself, split open the belly of Ribrekka before arching up and to the side to take off his great head.

"YES!" The voice exclaimed, triumph in his voice as it and the Primarch wrestled for control.

Present Day


Disaster had been avoided that day, for his sister had arrived in time to break the spell the Voice held over him. It was only the second time in his life that the Voice had managed to wrestle some control from Elyrian, and both times he had been lucky enough to have Vasilisa arrive to save him. But that wouldn't always be the case,l so he had devoted himself, and now will devote himself even more he decided, to curing himself and his sons from the Voices corrupting touch. Now that his mind was back in the present day, he watched as Malcador and his brothers spoke, waiting for his own turn as he did.

"Malcador, when you say cleansed of life, I must presume you mean of Xeno life, not those humans that had nothing to do with this attack correct?" he said, honestly unhappy about the idea of killing those who had no hand in the matter. Though he was mostly sure that the humans would be spared, he had to ask, to clarify it, for if any of his more aggressive brethren did not have clear orders to spare the innocent humans then they would not be spared.
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Postby Antimersia » Fri Mar 13, 2020 1:52 pm

Cyprig Lussard


Removing a brain from its skull is no easy task. That is, not if you intend for it to remain intact. It is a slow and delicate process. One that Cyprig has become quite the master at. One who knows Cyprig intimately would likely assume that it would be a skill he would master. As only a select few are aware of the oddities that occur in his chambers deep within his Gloriana, the Arcana. Cyprig's chambers more closely resemble a morgue than the bedroom of a Primarch. The room is walled and floored with white sterile tiling. The lights above are bright and fluorescent. Five long steel tables sit in the center of the room, side by side. The entrance to the chamber is a long hallway filled with decontaminating showers and aerosols. The only part of the room that even denotes that it is Cyprig's bedroom is the cot in the far corner. This is his formal chambers, depressing as they may seem, though he rarely sleeps in them. Opting instead to rest, book in hand, in the lavish library he had constructed for the Arcana.

Now is not the time for rest though, as Cyprig must work quickly and precisely as he operates. Cyprig smiles widely, the corners of his mouth extending as far back towards his ears as they go while he works. His bright white teeth complimenting the deranged look his face involuntarily makes when he operates. He uses a laser scalpel to quickly slide through the skin of the head down to the skull. He holds the head still with his cybernetic arm and grips the head's scalp at the incision point, pulling with his immense strength and easily peeling the skill of as though it were a banana. Cyprig then using a powerful surgical laser, begins to cut through the cranium. The laser tool makes short work of the bone and eventually the top half of the skull pups off like a lid. Cyprig activates a recorder and speaks clinically as he carefully pulls the brain free from the head. The smile on his face fading to an almost emotionless expression.

"Specimen shows approximately twenty percent necrosis in grey matter. Scarring present on the occipital lobe, likely caused by concussions or contusions suffered during the siege. No significant physical damage visible. Specimen grade, superb." Cyprig says, his voice monotone and without emotion. He places the brain in a 5 gallon jar and fills the jar with a preserving solution that will force the neurons to continue firing as to prevent further damage to the cells. He places a cap on the jar and seals it, before carrying it to a shelf towards the back of the room, ready to be brought to the server room for storage.

Just as he places the jar down Cyprig hears the hissing of the decontamination chamber working, and the growing footsteps of someone coming down the hallways. By the sound of the steps Cyprig already recognizes that it is the twentieth legions first Chapter Commander Archem Baldur. The inner door opens and Archem enters, standing stoutly at attention before speaking.

"I apologize for the interruption, Sir. But the Astropath has received a message of extreme significance." Archem states bluntly, a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Archem I highly doubt anything that psyker says is of any importance." Cyprig replies dismissively. His voice now calm and deep, with a mocking inflection.

"The Emperor has called upon you to come to a planet called Dolgata immediately." Archem explains. Cyprig breaths deeply for a moment. He walks back to the table he was working at and grabs the remaining piece of the severed head from the table and calm walk them over towards a waste bin, dropping them in unceremoniously. Archem stands still, his anxiety building as Cyprig begins to wash his hands of them blood of the brain he just handled.

"Archem, have I ever told you why I take the minds that I take?" Cyprig asks bluntly.

"You have told me that it is in the pursuit of preserving knowledge, Sir." Archem answers, proudly.

"Very true. But that is merely the short version. Have I ever told you the long version?" Cyprig asks, still washing his hands, growing more rough with the scrubbing.

"I have never needed a better explanation, Sir." Archem replies, somewhat confused.

"Allow me to educate you then, Archem." Cyprig begins, the crooked smile returning to his face. "An ancient philosopher would say, that a human being dies twice. Once when his body perishes, and once more when he is remembered for the last time." Cyprig's flesh hand begins to grow red from the rough scrubbing. "Humanity exists in memories, Archem. The physical form is fragile, and perishes far too easily. But a persons memory is tough, and requires the deaths of many to remove from this universe. That is my aim Archem, to make Humanity immortal. For if the minds never perish, no memory could ever perish again. As long as those memories exist, no man, woman, or child can ever die that second and final death. The same is true for knowledge." Cyprig's hands begin to bleed lightly, his cybernetic hand having scrubbed a wound into the flesh of his other hand.

"Sir?" Archem says, unsure how to respond.

"Set course for Dolgata, as the Father commands it. I would like to arrive as soon as possible. You are dismissed." Cyprig says as he turns the water off. His smile has disappeared once again as he takes a bottle of alcohol and pours it over his hand to sterilize the wound.

Archem rushes back out of Cyprig chambers and relays the orders. Within the hour the entirety of the twentieth legion begin their warp travel to Dolgata, leaving behind a thoroughly decimated planet behind.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


When the Cyprig and the Night Haunters arrived at Dolgata, Cyprig was happy to see ships from several other legions already here. To him it meant this wasn't a waste of his time. This was likely something truly serious. He adorned his power armor. The black gothic look was inspired by ancient horrors from Terra's past. What better to instill fear into those that defy the Imperium? He flies down, Archem accompanying him, and lands as close to the spire as he can. As Cyprig and Archem step out of their vessel they see Remigius land as well. It brought Cyprig's crooked smile back, thinking of just how common it was to see Remigius arrive anywhere in the galaxy just after him.

Cyprig carried his helm under his shoulder as he and Archem walked into the spire. Cyprig took a seat beside Icarion, knowing that there was a good chance that Icarion would want to speak with Cyprig sooner or later. Archem stands against the wall behind Cyprig. he stands proudly with a stout look upon his face. Cyprig's smile fades as Malcador arrives and begins to speak. The lack of a presence from the Emperor rather perturbed Cyprig. But he did not let his annoyance show on his face. Rather, once the order to eliminate all life is uttered, his wide smile returns once more. And anyone paying attention would likely notice a glint in his eye. Cyprig leans forward, listening intently to what each of his fellow Primarchs has to say, deeply enjoying the ability to absorb all of the information he can before what will undoubtedly be a gloriously fun crusade.

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Postby Northern Poland » Fri Mar 13, 2020 8:41 pm

Mercaekha Taristus

Mercaekha sat upon a chair in his solitary chamber in the heart of the Gloriana Class Battleship Fist of Caburus. A Candid lay at his feet curled up on the carpet surrounding his chair. He poured over a Data-slate he was holding in his left hand. The candid rolled over, leaning on the Primarch's Power armored feet. The room was alive with the chorus of Exotic birds in cages, with plants and other types of fauna dominating the room. An artificial light shone from above, interrupted by a few stylized designs below it, sending a shadow down on the room. The Primarch put the Data-slate on the table next to him, A serf retrieving it and bringing it to god-knows-where.

He felt uneasy, more than usual then, as the Serf wandered away, and the animals became quiet. His Legionnaires are likely feeling this as well, He thought. Some grievous disaster was coming, but not even the greatest minds of the Legion could say what, they just felt, unsettled. He rubbed his temple, and soon the worrisome thoughts dissipated for the entire legion. He sighed, seeing this as a forewarning of something that would be soon.

Then, Grand Master of the Legion, Sachiel approached the Primarch's throne, standing at attention before him.

"My Lord, our Astropath has received a message."

Mercaekha looked up at the XO of his legion, "I see, what does the Psyker say?" He said, somewhat worried about what had just transpired minutes ago.

Sachiel relaxed now, his Skull-Like helmet adjusting. "The Emperor calls his children to a council on Dolgata. He wants you all there in a timely manner and will be there personally."

He looked up at his XO, "Personally? Well, seems about time for Father to finally meet with us, and not delegate it to Psychic messages." He was relieved, finally, a chance to meet his father once again.

He thought for a moment, "Sachiel, peel off our personal escort squadron, and set course for this 'Dolgata' at once."

The XO bowed, "As you wish, My Lord."

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


The Fleet of 8 Ships descended into the System Surrounding Dolgata, as a Thunderhawk was prepared for the transport of the Primarch and his XO, along with a few escort fighters. The Escort's Targeting auspexes searched for targets, finding none in the company of dozens of friendly warships, transports, and other vessels. The Ships bore a larger presence than some of the legions, as they had instead sent one or two ships, even though it was only maybe a squadron of ships. Even so, the Battleships of each Legion dominated the Orbit of the planet, able to kill an entire fleet themselves, if push came to shove.


The Thunderhawk and it's escorts screamed down towards the tower, the Thunderhawk slowing down as it approached the landing pad. The Escorts screamed past, turning around for another fly-by, to escort the Thunderhawk on its return. Mercaekha and his XO stepped off the Thunderhawk, striding towards his Brother. "It has been too long Elyrian, It is quite a pleasure to see you again, along with seeing our father." He appreciated the company of his fellow Primarchs, as his worries seem to just Melt away in the company of them. He walked along the halls to the meeting chamber, seeing few signs of a struggle to reclaim this towering structure.


He sighed, as Malcador revealed himself, rather than his father. He had no quarrels with the man, aside from the aurora of mysteriousness he generated upon the room. He was one of the primarchs to silently watch the conversation play out. Two Whole fleets, devoured by the eldari? He thought. That's insane, the backstabbing Xenos are back at it again. He and his entire legion had a deep hatred for the race that had enslaved thousands of Civilians from their Homeworld. This was infuriating, these fleets could have helped carry the Emperor's light to the darkest corners of the Galaxy, yet these foolish Xenos had cowardly destroyed them when they had no chance of fighting back.


Furthermore, this would mean that more reinforcements would need to be mustered from other systems, and Legions would have to cover the spaces that were occupied by the two fleets. He decided it was best he keep quiet, as he had nothing to contribute. This was going to be frustrating, purging the orks from this system, one of the most resourceful species in existence.
Last edited by Northern Poland on Fri Mar 13, 2020 8:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Imperialisium » Fri Mar 13, 2020 9:38 pm

Vasilisa Sanguina
Primarch of the 5th Legion
The Sun Angels


///EXTRACTING DATA PACK
Loading...12%...33%...61%...96%...INITIALIZING
AUTHORIZATION CODE: **********
Received....Standby...
///OPENING COMBAT LOG FORTY-TWO/THIRTEEN\\\
<Dolgota Campaign>

Audio Only? [] Visual Only? [] Audio-Visual? [X]
Initializing Audio-Video Recordings from Legion action on Dolgota...


922.999.M30, Dolgota Prime

Dolgota was once a verdant Human colony, ruled by a collection of Princes who bore the eponymous titles of the planet's name. Where the name of world and title comes is unclear. For the surviving traces of Human interstellar civilization had seen abuse for decades by the savage Greenskins. Turning what was once a seemingly peaceful and prosperous interstellar dominion into half ruined cities and monuments long defaced. Partially delipidated stone structures and cloven statues the last testament to a culture that Remembrancers and Mechanicum Magi guess to be over eight thousand years old. The Xenos had the gall to take these worlds for their own. For that, there was but one price, one debt that the barbaric Greenskin had to satiate. A wergild in blood and fury that the accursed Xenos would pay only in their very lives! For two years I have campaigned alongside my brother Elyrian, my fellow Primarch and Elk King of Calmora. Twice the throneworld has circled its vibrant yellow Sun in the time it has taken for the combined might of our legions to strip these worlds from the gnarled claw of the Ork.

"My Lord, We are over the target zone in thirty seconds. Lord Elyrian is about to make for the Central Spire."

The voice snapped the tall, lithe, armour clad figure standing in the maw of an opening Stormbird troop bay. Strong gusts of wind whipped her snow white hair about a perfect face. Every shape and angle of this pinnacle of feminine humanity like the chiseled statues of past Goddesses. Nay, better. She was gird in the purple armour of the other Legionnaires in the Stormbird with her. The colours of her guard and homage to the ancient Imperial colours of ancient Terran regality. A panoply she had adopted as a gift from the Forges of Mars and the Fabricator-General himself. The Primarch turned to her subordinate who was clad from head to toe in ceramite. His Power Armour in the purple-gold heraldry of the Athanatoi. The Deathless. Her Bodyguard company. Golden eagle wings swept up the grill of his helm with a large eagle wing on his right shoulder, also gold, and his suit inscribed in various. "Thank you, Arkidamus." Behind her a full company of Marines where conducting last minute weapon and jump pack checks. Each marine checking the warrior before him before turning around to have their own gear inspected. Making sure its status synced up with the information from the neural interface sending information directly into the helmets and brains of the marines. The Warhawk IV Stormbird yawned slightly in a mild course correction done by its Astartes pilots.

"Follow me and finish this war," she said with a cheer from her warriors. Leaping out of the bay, her gene-sons following in a flowing rain of purple clad death. To her left and right, fore and aft, other Stormbirds were dropping entire companies of assault marines. But these were clad in red. The actual standardized colour of the 5th Legion. The Sun Angels. Descending through the cloud layer and through tendrils of black smoke. The Primarch watched as below them a half ruined city, studded with atrocious Ork structures embedded throughout, laced with detonations and the streaks of tracer fire. Below them an intense urban battle ranged for many kilometers in every direction as the might of two legions, supported by millions of Imperial Army soldiers and Armada attack craft, waged an epic final struggle to decide the fate of the battle for Dolgota. A brilliant flash of blue light as a beam leveled a low rising bridge that launched stone blocks the size of ground cars into the sickly brown water that made up the river running through the Eastern portions of the ruined city. Emerging out of the corner of her eye, from behind a mostly collapse high rise, a Reaver Titan of the Legio Titanicus strode forth, its war horn blaring in solemn challenge to every Ork in the city.

As the Angels descended on their wings of flame she could make out the other spires and higher structures of the palace. By far still decently maintained despite the shoddy Ork engineering that barely kept entire wings of the structure upright. Angling herself ten degrees the Primarch adjusted her flight. Aiming for a spire that was spitting out bright orange tracers of flak fire and swarming with Greenskins. The Spire was two hundred meters in diameter and studded with gun and rocket emplacements.

My Lord. Primarch Elyrian and his Terminators have landed on the central spire.

The Primarch spoke into the comm bead receivers of her armour collar, "Excellent. Have my Guard's Terminators teleport to the base of the spire and secure it." She swung her feet before her and like a blazing comet The Angel crashed into the Greenskins manning the Ork equivalent of a flak tower. Her sabatons crushing a surprised Ork underfoot in a shower of shattered bone and splattering blood. She swung immediately to her right and decapitated an Ork gunner. Her guard crashing in around her in blazing arcs of righteous retribution! Their regal colours soon awash with the crimson arterial sprays of dying Grenskins. Arkidamus right behind her every step of the way as his Primarch cut a swathe of devastation around the large tower and began to descend its steps. The Athanatoi following as she led an ironically polar opposite assault than what her brother was conducting several hundred meters away. Catching glimpses from worn stone windows that the other spires had fallen silent. The banners of the 5th Legion's Assault Companies rising above them as the Legionnaires continued their downward assault through stair well or simply jumped off to ride their jump packs down to the surface below to fresh firefights.

The clattering thud of Bolter fire intensifying as she neared the base and with a mighty kick she smashed down a doorway to see a wide gallery. The pillars, especially those fallen, were pockmarked with impacts from bolt and bullet. 5th and 8th Legionnaires fought side by side as individual companies and squads leapfrogged each other through the structure. In the distance, Vasilia's superhuman eyesight could make out Predators and other legion vehicles supporting a general advance through the neighboring buildings. Even further a short barrage of artillery fire from Legion and Army assets leveled several structures near a wooden bridge spanning the river. Every minute that passed the Greenskins where being overrun and driven into pockets of increasingly futile resistance. But there would be quarter. Orks didn't surrender, and the Imperials would not have taken any captive save for the dissection tables of the Magi Biologis.

She returned her gaze to events near her, the whole sight and process of information funneling through the neural pathways of her post-human brain in a matter of scant single digit seconds, "Press to the central spire. Where is Captain Arpad's 15th Company. They should be here already."

Arkidamus began speaking into his comm bead for a moment before turning the face of his helmet back to his Primarch as the Athanatoi created a perimeter around the two. Adding their own firepower to the steadily advancing units of Astartes already engaged in the fight for the Gallery. "Captain Arpad states he is fifty meters from the Central Spire and encountering heavy resistance in the ground level. Brother Rylor is moving up to assist in dislodging the Xenos."

"We make for Arpad." said Vasilisa, already striding out an archway into a vast plaza that had once been thronged with human citizens of this world. Now all that was left was a scattering of bleached bones as signs of Human habitation. The Athanatoi fanned out before and around her. Moving swiftly, their brisk walk a run for a human, moving across the plaza and past carnage from a gunfight that had ended but minutes prior. Bodies of Orks lying about as a team of four marines bearing the colours of the 14th Company of the 1st Great Company's insignia moved about with heavy flamers. Dowsing each corpse in bursts of flame. The stench of the filthy Greenskin filled Vasilisa's nostrils as she passed with her warriors. Moving up the marble steps, now chipped and pockmarked by bolter fire, as she was once more met with scenery of war. Squads of the 15th Company behind stone walls, collapsed pillars, statues, and moving along colonnades traded fire with what was ten powerful Ork Nobz and their entourages of Ork warriors. Vasilisa spared a look up and saw distance signs of her Brother's own fight taking place up the spire towards the Ork Warlord.

"All Athanatoi to me! My Sons! FOR THE EMPEROR!" she bellowed as she broke into a sprint. Pointing her master crafted power sword foreword. The Sword of Vylkaz. Shimmering with ancient technology and might befitting a Primarch. A gene-child of the Emperor of Mankind. Her sprint was a blur. Her Astartes behind her as the 15th Company took up the charge as well. The Nobz, seeing this challenge, bellowed their own harsh war cries and counter-charged. The two sides met with flurries of rapid gunfire, swinging of weaponry, and the thuds of armoured bodies. But it was too much. The numbers, skill, and firepower of the marines coupled with that of their Primarch stalled the Ork counter charge in its tracks as Arkidamus gored a Nob with his twin power swords in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. Captain Arpad beheaded a second while bellowing victory. Four others fell by the withering fire of the marines bolters. Joined by their entourages of steel clad warriors.

Vasilisa crossed blades, sword and hammer hand, moving and twisting. Side step and parry. Her skill versus his brutish power as the Nob towered over her. But she was undaunted. The Wings of Karpatha spread wide like a warrior-angel of forgotten Terran faiths. Sword in hand and defiant against the Spiked armour, red eyed, Demon monstrosity before her. She ducked, and swayed left, the right wing of her armour smashing into the Greenskins knee. Bringing him down enough for her to expertly reverse grip and slide the elegantly razor sharp blade of her power sword through the open face viewing slot of the Nob. Slicing through skin, muscle, and skull bone into the squishy pink Ork brain beyond. The Nob's arms sank to the side. Jaw slack as its eyes dilated, as if awe upon its own demise, before falling ungracefully onto its back. Sliding her blade free she witnessed the last Orks be overwhelmed. There was no fairness or honour in this as she witnessed an Ork be slashed in the thigh as another marine jumped on its back and sank his combat knife into the red eyed xenos neck. This was not a battle. This was an extermination. For none who defy the Will of Mankind deserve to live in the new galactic order to come.

Darkness. She felt it, a tremor, a gust of invisibly black evil that swished past her on the gales of space and time. She had felt it several times before. Always when-"Brother...," Vasilisa muttered as her eyes locked at the pinnacle of the Central Spire. She made for the spire while rapidly issuing commands for all Euthantoi squads to make for the Central Spire as fast as possible. Indeed as she made for the steps and ascended the first few flights she could see Euthanatoi that had been equipped with Jump packs rising from various points in the city and making for the Central Spire. Some disengaging from whatever fight they had been in to fullfill the direct order of their Gene-Mother.

Rising through the spire as fast her legs could carry her, a blur to the normal human eye, her Astartes struggling to keep up. Panting heavily in their armour as their servos maxed out trying to climb at a pace to keep up with their liege. Vasilisa broke into main chamber of where the Ork warlord had made his last stand. Whom now lay in a pool of his own cooling vitality. Her Euthanatoi present calming the rage of their genetic cousin. The voice, as Elyrian had described to her once in a rare admission of what afflicted him and his Legion, seemed to suddenly evaporate. Vasilisa strode to Elyrian who she could sense was most disturbed. Her Legionnaires even going so far as to place gauntlets on their brethren to steady them after the psychic battle that they had fought and the exhaustion they know doubt felt. She lowered her blade and squared up to him. But, no words need be said. The Athanatoi coming in full bore a minute later to only lower their weapons at the eerily calm sight before them.

Present Day

Vasilisa had stood with her brother as they received their siblings. The first of which was, unsurprisingly, Icarion. Self-styled eldest sibling despite them all being biologically the same age. Not that they showed it much. Vasilisa still looked scarcely beyond the Terran age of twenty five. No crease or wrinkle on her flesh. Skin and musculature strong and taught. Bones unbowed or weakened by the ravaging of time did not seem to come despite being at least over two standard Terran centuries old.

Her long hair swayed in the breeze as she rested on armoured hand on her hip. The Emperor's message had arrived with much stir and extensive preparations had been conducted. Many of which had been overseen by Elyrian and Vasilisa personally. The fireworks however, were entirely her brothers idea, not that she would have complained. She understood the need, especially for the regular human soldiers and crew of their fleets, to engage in such activities so that morale be high. Needless to say, she was disappointed in the Emperor not arriving yet, not that she was one to second guess him and his scheduling practices.

As Icarion approached and their had their greeting she turned to escort her sibling into the Central Spire. Much of the loose rubble had already been cleared away and the structure itself reinforced to prevent untimely architectural collapses from occurring. Yet, signs of war were all over. From the still smoldering corpses of Greenskins to the piles of metal scraps as their structures were dismantled and smashed by the forces of the Imperium in an effort to erase their presence from the surface of the planet.

As she entered the room, followed by the other Primarchs as they arrived one after the other, with Elyrian bringing up the rear alongside Napoli. A sight that brought a slight smile to Vasilisa's perfectly supple lips. Each of her brothers had their quirks and personalities. Some more tolerable than others and indeed others more likeable than some. Oberon was dour and gloomy, but she quite frankly enjoyed his serious nature and had proven a consummate expert in Void warfare while being infinitely reliable when called upon.

Then there was Igneous, a consummate warrior balanced by his aggressive tendency to embrace individuals in near spine shattering displays of affection. But like Icarion was a Psyker and seemed to loathe Vasilia when she was angry. Typically resulting in them fleeing in agony from her presence when that ever is the case despite how rare it was for her to be given to fury.

Mitzli was mysterious but she had no dislike. Firmly a brother in the neutral category. Then entered Cyprig, she had her suspicions, and while Vasilisa had fought alongside all of her brothers extensively it is him and his legion that she finds most jarring to coordinate with. Not that he isn't easy to formulate plans with or incompetent in killing enemies of the Imperium. If anything his legion excels too vigorously in that regard. Often leaving worlds that could be swiftly rebuilt into barren ruins that would require years of nurture to return to productivity. Remigius entering right after was almost a joke of real life to her. Remigius often given the thankless task of cleaning up the devastation wrought by his brother. A job that he excelled at and appeared to endure with an iron will.

Nikolai, if ever on a long voyage in the void, he is the best to past time with. Vasilisa liked Nikolai. His laconic way of speaking portrayed him as simple and one dimensional. But she knew from various moments spent together in the past decades of knowing each other that he shared a sentimental side. She knew he cared for his gene-sons and for that she admired him for it. Samael that arrived around the same time was tolerable and neutral in her mind. If one was to chalk up the decade if not more than a century long relationships she had with the siblings coming into the chamber.

Titus, donned in shame, was a brother she did not hate but could not help but frown. She found what had befallen his legion as tragic and sad. Scathing insults by other top Imperials were known behind Titus back. Things that she did not tolerate in her own command. She removed the frown from her face and turned her head to Titus to mouth, Welcome, Brother. Rotating her pristine visage back around there here electric purple eyes set on Mercaekha Taristus, then finally Elyrian and Napoli. Mercaekha was likable and Elyrian of course she had fought more battles with than any other of her siblings. Napoli, Vasilisa found entirely adorable. The only one that, while not technically older, a seemingly older sister dotes on. While others may joke of Napoli's stature, not once has he endured such speech from his sister, and in the long years of this Great Crusade she had always offered an ear to his frustrations. The same could not be said for the Emperor or some of their siblings.

When Malcador revealed himself after the Custodes arrived Vasilisa seemed...well...not surprised. She would have felt his presence as much as she feels the energies of her more overt, Psyker, brethren. Indeed, the Emperor to her always seemed to not match what others described. He was great, infallible, and regal. But while everyone spoke of him as a golden giant of purity and strength. Knowledge and grace he certainly possessed. But physically but a man. A perhaps tired man she could venture. Vasilisa crossed her left leg over her right as best as her power armour would allow.

The news of the two expeditions fleet demise caused her to lower her chin in thought. Ishariel was not far from here spatially. Calculations and logistical probabilities rampaging in cold order throughout her trans-human cortical structure. The flurry of her siblings words and grievances for the foul Xenos actions coming with no surprise but a slight, ever so slight, grimace to her face.

But she bided her time to speak.
Last edited by Imperialisium on Fri Mar 13, 2020 9:53 pm, edited 7 times in total.
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Theyra
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Postby Theyra » Sat Mar 14, 2020 2:40 pm

Miztli Huitzilihuitl

"Come on, Youn, stop holding back and hit me! Miztli said to his opponent, "I know you can do better and just because I am your Primarch does not mean you should hold back". Deep within the flagship of the Tenth's fleet the Gloriana Class Battleship, the Kalramia's Sword. Was a sparring area where members of the Tenth could practice against each other to keep their close-quarter skills sharp and possibly bond with each other. Miztli was in the middle of a sparring match with his Cihuacoatl(Lord Commander), a tall man for a space marine with short red hair and full beard and is one of the few Terra born marines left in the legion. Most have either died over the course of the Great Crusade or were slowly outnumbered by the natives of Miztli's home of Kalramia. Some of the legion would rather have a Kalramia born space marine be Cihuacoatl rather than an outsider from Terra. Still, Youn was the leader of the Tenth before Miztli was found and was reunited with his legion. After seeing the capabilities of Youn and how he had adapted to the culture of the Kalramians. Miztli felt that Youn should be his Cihuacoatl.

"Yes my Primarch", Youn said with a blank expression while wielding a practice sword. Miztli was wielding a practice macuahuitl, a unique weapon that is commonly used on Kalramia. Youn took a deep breath before getting into an attack stance and lurched at Miztli. Miztli quickly countered and launched an attack of his own, using the blunt part of the macuahuitl to strike Youn. Youn, jumped back, avoiding the attack held his sword with both hands and brought his sword down on Miztli. Miztli blocked the attack with his weapon and held it with two hands. Youn then retracted his sword and made a fast thrust that Miztli barely blocked, Miztli smiled. "There you go Youn, you almost hit me there".

Youn smiled back, "All to plan my Primarch". As the two were about to fight again, a space marine came into the room and spoke to Miztli. "My lord, we have received a message of great importance".

Miztli motioned to Youn to stop and spoke, "What is the message warrior?

"The Emperor has summoned us to the planet of Dolgota along with the most of the legions".

"Most? He summoned most of the legions?

"Yes my lord".

"Hmmm, then we must make haste to Dolgota, order the fleet to make way to Dolgota".

"Yes my lord", the space marine bowed and then left the sparring room.

Youn twirled his sword, "what do you think this means my Primarch?

"I do not know but, it must be important to require most of the legions and you can call me by my name Youn". Miztli looked Youn in his eyes, we have fought long enough by each other sides that you can call me by my name".

"I know my... Miztli, it is a force of habit and one I do not seek to end".

Miztli gave a small chuckle, as stubborn as ever, "I see and while I should prepare myself for Dolgota", Miztli held his macuahuitl out and pointed at Youn. "How about we do one last bout?

Youn smiled, "Why of course my Primarch" and Youn got into an attack stance.

With fire in his voice, "Let's see who can win this one, Miztli said and the two started a last bout before they had to resume their duties.

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

"Hmmm", so the Eldar are responsible for the destruction of two fleets and our father wishes to wipe them out of the sector. Miztli thought as he studied the face of Malcador who had replaced the Emperor at this meeting. He did not mind that the father was not coming and was busy with other affairs. Miztli was not attached to father like the others and follows him for a different reason than the fact that he is Miztli's father. Though he wondered what could be so important to ignore a rare meeting that had gathered all of the legions together for a single campaign. No matter, he thought, still it is nice to be around his fellow brothers and sisters. Even if some of them he wished not to be with, like Cyprig. Hopefully, he will not be assigned to work with him if anything.

Back to the meeting, Miztli noted what the others had said, Nikolai keeping to his laconic self it seems. Nothing that annoyed Miztli, just something that he can count on Nikolai being since he rarely speaks a lot. Samael though, Miztli was surprised that the often quiet brother was the first to speak up. Then came the Little Lion, Napoli, someone who Miztli thought cared too much for their father's attention. It was not surprising that he wanted to carry out the Emperor's plan to the letter. Then someone who Miztli respected spoke, Remigius the Healer, who talked about reconning the sector and not burn worlds to a crisp. Which is something that Miztli agreed with. Cyprig did not say anything which Miztli was glad about. Though he did notice there was a glint in his eyes and had a great smile on his face. No doubt that he was eager to start honorless bloodshed. Mercaekha and Vasilisa joined Cyprig in silence, not saying anything. Miztli expected Vasilisa to say something but, it seem like she had nothing to say like Mercaekha.

After listening to what the his brothers said, Miztli spoke up. "I agree with Remigius, we need to be smart with this and not blindly go into another trap. We need to plan and prepare so we will not lose any more fleets and evict the Eldar from this sector with minimal losses".
Last edited by Theyra on Sat Mar 14, 2020 5:18 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Kyavan
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Postby Kyavan » Sat Mar 14, 2020 3:51 pm

Oberon Gothicus


Oberon struck the blade once, twice, three times. Every time the weapon rang, he got a little less sad and a little more angry. It was a ritual of his. In the heart of the Gloriana-class Battleship the Repentia Oberon continued the ritual of rage for hours (as did his sons), furthering the 9th's tradition of beautiful but deadly equipment. His forge grew so hot, the fires so red, his silent tears evaporated before they fell off his face. He continued to beat out all the imperfections in his newest weapon. He realized that he was a lot like this gladius, strong and deadly, but beaten that way. He cooled the blade and returned it to its brothers on his wall. The Emperor's Despair had finished another tool of harnessing his rage and went to go put on his power armor.

After Oberon entered his armored shell, he left to keep his appointment with Consul Gaius in the fighting pits. Gaius was leader of the 1st Cohort and the captain of the Emperor-Class Battleship the Blade of Achilles. Oberon nodded to Gaius as the great oak doors swung open into the area. Giaus had already chosen his weapon, a greataxe. The two warriors stared each other down while Oberon grabbed a broadsword and took his position on the other side of the arena. The match bell rang and the two, astartes and primarch dueled.

"Lord, I should tell you that the Emperor has summoned us." Giaus growled as the two circled around each other

Oberon's eyes never left the Consul's, "Summoned us where Gaius?"

"To Dolgata lord, us and many of the other legions. The Emperor himself will be there."

Oberon stopped for a moment, "Personally? Glad to know the old man hasn't been stuck in one of his projects again." He reformed his stance and lunged towards his son, pinning him against the wall.

He thought for a moment, "Prepare the fleet to move out, we will remind my siblings and father that the 9th still rules the void. No matter how many times we're summoned to insufferable land-based meetings." Oberon released his hold on Giaus and returned the weapons to their racks.

The Consul bowed, "It will be done."

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


The massive fleet of the 9th descended into the System Surrounding Dolgata. Oberon and Giaus landed on the planet quickly after landing in system. The Escort's Targeting auspexes combed the void for hostiles, finding nothing but the company of allied legion warships, transports, and other vessels. The 9th bore the largest presence of the legions, bringing their entire fleet save their Ramilies Station and a few warships to defend it. Even so, the Battleships of each Legion were impressive. Oberon flashed a rare, somber smile under his helm as they passed each one.


The Thunderhawk roared down towards the tower, slowing down as it approached the complex. Oberon and his Gaius stepped off the Thunderhawk,and began the trek to the tower. Sidestepping an embrace from Elyrian and giving a curt nod to Vasilisa, Oberon took his seat farthest from the door. He sent Gaius to go survey the city, Oberon was curious about ancient human history. In the mean time, Oberon would sulk in his little corner and avoid talking to any of his siblings. They were much to happy.

Upon Malcador's speech, a black rage filled him. How dare these xenos destroy the glorious machines of Humanity's light?! Two Whole fleets, gone? Tears of rage flowed down his face under the helm framing his hard features. The 9th as a fleet-based force and one that reveared their vessels would never let this transgression go unpunished. Oberon clenched his fists and the Fists of God activated, arcs of blue energy danced across his fists and the desk. Deactivating them, Oberon remained seated hoping it didn't attract too much attention.

Outwardly calm, inwardly fuming. The great Primarch of the 9th Legion was ready to show the Eldar the white fire of Humanity's vengeance.
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Segmentia
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Postby Segmentia » Sat Mar 14, 2020 10:44 pm

Resolve of Iron, Shogun-class Battleship

The tear in the warp sealed behind the small flotilla of ships exited it, banishing its malignant purple and pink light from real space. The flotilla was small, just the Resolve of Iron, two cruisers, and six escort frigates. The Resolve of Iron was unique within the Imperial Wardens fleet, being the only Shogun-class battleship within the fleet, a gift from the Primarch Icarion of the Lightning Bearers to his beloved brother Titus Ironborn some years after the horrific Hurox campaign and the public Censuring by the Emperor that had followed it.

Titus Ironborn, clad in his full armor and helmet tucked under his left arm, entered the bridge. He was already holding his hand up to dismiss any formalities as the commander of the Resolve of Iron, and nominally of the primary Warden fleet as well, turned to greet the towering Primarch. Suitably waved off, Lord Admiral Azmovz refrained from launching the usual formalities and simply nodded his head.

“My Lord, we will be in a stable orbit around the world in under an hour. A Stormbird is already being prepared for you and those you wish to take down.” The red-haired, seemingly middle-aged man said with a bow of the head.

“My thanks, Lord Admiral. I admit I am excited for this gathering. It has been too long since I have seen many of my siblings.” Titus said, reaching down to the padded plinth beside the Lord Admirals command throne, a large cat with orange and white fur sitting atop the plinth in all the regal disdain of a feline. Extending a finger, Titus stroked under the felines chin, making the Chief Mouser of the Resolve of Iron begin to purr. It was a Voln custom to bring at least one feline on board a ship to hunt rodents and generally improve morale among the crew, and Commodore Lightning was one such feline.

“Do you wish to add anyone to the landing party? As I recall for the moment it is just yourself and Battle-Captain Livis.” Azmovz asked as Commodore Lightning, finished with the show of affection, gracefully leaped from the plinth and stalked across the bridge.

“Lord Commander Zvite, but he has already been informed.” Titus said, unable to keep a small smile from his lips. Azmovz and Zvite rather famously did not get along, though not in a vicious way. Aside from the general rivalry between fleet and ground elements, Azmovz liked to come across as a scholar and gentleman, plying the stellar voids like the fabled explorers of old. Zvite, on the other hand, could come off as boorish at times, a Lord General that spoke like the soldiers under his command and the soldier he himself was.

The two stood there in silence as the time passed, and as the Resolve of Iron came into formation alongside the other assembled fleets, Titus excused himself and made his way to the waiting Stormbird. He was met by Battle-Captain Livis, likewise in his armor, helm not yet on and the right pauldron painted black, like all in the Imperial Wardens. Lord Commander Zvite was there as well, dressed in his finest uniform, a chest full of medals, and attended by two staffers. There was little said among the assembled as they boarded the Stormbird and departed for the surface. The trip down was a little bumpy, but nothing all of them weren't used to. The Stormbird touched down and they all prepared to disembark, Titus and Livis securing their helmets before doing so. The first sibling Titus came upon was proud Elyrian, towering and posture almost sullen for having to act as a greeter on the world he had just helped liberate.

“Brother.” Titus greeted with a slight bow of the head. Now was not the time for the two to talk and catch up after all. The group moved past Elyrian and made their way to the meeting chamber. Zvite and his staffers took a secondary passage, entering into the central chamber via a less grand door. Titus and Livis entered the room and with a quick glance around Titus took everything in. Icarion and Vasilia were already there, the two siblings he felt closest too, and it helped to strengthen his mood to see them again after so many years of almost total, if self imposed, isolation for the past several decades. Livis took a place lined up on the wall as Titus took a seat away from those already seated. Oberon, Igneous, Miztli, Cyprig, Remigius, and Nikolai were all already assembled. Titus had just sat down when he saw Vasilia turn to face him, and read her lips as she greeted him silently. He returned the greeting with a slight nod, having seen the frown on her face when he had entered. He understood that it might seem improper for the others to welcome him with open arms, with him still being censured and out of favor.

As the others entered, Titus kept himself silent and his eyes on the entrance. After what he assumed must be the last Primarch to have arrived had taken their seat the lights in the chamber brightened. Malcador the Sigilite entered the chamber, a man Titus had immense respect for, both as proxy of the Emperor and simply for his own achievements. As Malcador delivered the news Titus remained silent, but there was a spark of hope beating in his heart now. Could this coming crusade be the chance to redeem the Imperial Wardens in the eyes of his Father? He kept his expectations low, but sincerely wished this would turn out to be the case.

Lord Commander Gregor Zvite

Gregor Zvite and his two staffers had departed from Titus and entered the chamber through a secondary door, being ushered up into the ring of higher seats as the Primarchs took their place in the center of the room. The seats were already crowded, though not packed, and Gregor scowled as he had to shuffle past other officers of the Army and the Armada as well. He didn't spare any of them a second glance, most looking like the high-born toffs they no doubt were, and he didn't really have the time for those types. “Look at that fat bastard, probably gets fed by servants.” Zvite muttered to one of the staffers and subtly gestured to a very heavy set man dressed in an admirals uniform. The staffer grinned and shook his head, his grizzled and scarred features slightly hidden in the general darkness of the chamber. Reaching a spot behind Titus, Zvite found most of the seats taken. There was a general murmur of talking from the assembled officers and Zvite found a section of seats that would be perfect for the meeting.

Shuffling his way over to the already occupied seats, he leaned over to address the seated officers. “You mind moving?” He asked, and the seated officers, their insignia other then ranks not making much sense to him, looked up at him with glares and disbelief, and they were most certainly toffs. “I'm sure you can find a seat further up.” One of them sneered. They couldn't see his rank insignia past his great coat. His temper flaring, Gregor leaned in more.

“I could, colonel, but I'd much rather sit behind the Primarch that personally asked me to come along to this meeting, hm?” He said, smiling a hard smile. “Lord Commander Gregor Zvite, Voln Iron Guard. Who might you be, colonel?” He asked and delighted in the expressions the officers had on their faces. They made quick apologies and vacated their seats.

“Bunch of rear echelon soft toff pansies.” Zvite said as he and his staffers took the now empty seats, just in time for the lights to brighten. Everyone went silent and sat up straighter, all eager to see the Emperor. But it was the Sigilite who entered instead. All listened to what the man said, and even though he held his hands up to ward off any cries of dismay or anger, quiet murmuring sprung up regardless. After the Sigilite had finished speaking, Zvite sat back in his chair with an exhale of breath. “Of course it has to be the fucking Eldar...” He said, not loud but not quite either.
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Ormata
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Postby Ormata » Sun Mar 15, 2020 6:59 pm

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Primarch Igneous
II Legion
Perpetual Discipline


There was silence in the chamber, the vast expanses of the Warp just beyond the panes of hardened window. It's mysteries were like an ocean ever churning with new whispers, depths endless. Igneous sat, waiting, listening. He could hear the Navigators yell in their chambered haunts, hear them yell that the destination neared ever so close. He heard them, both through the minds of those about them and through the Warp, to some degree, itself. He sat, waiting, thinking. It was not often for the II Legion to be called by Father, to be called to a destination specific and not a target vague. For so long they had lingered, taking targets at leisure, taskings vague and simple. They were directed to sectors, not planets, and the sieges were brutal, swift, uncompromising affairs lacking much pomp or prance. Not that Igneous would have allowed pomp or prance of course, that wasn't befitting to a Legion. No, Father had directed them to a singular world for a meeting. Why?

It was perhaps a new offensive, but nothing said there could be secret enough that a mere Vox transmission couldn't have been used. Unless, that was, the campaign itself could not bear to be known by any who dared intercept Vox and Astropath. Who had the means and reasoning to intercept such, to cause such a meeting? It had to be important. It had to. And yet, Igneous was mildly disappointed that the full strength of his force could not be brought to bear on the campaign. For the most part his Sons were deployed elsewhere, deployed as marauders, invaders, vanguards in general to a dozen other Expeditionary Fleets. Only a token force, some three Chapters totaling 15,000 Brothers, could be moved forth from their positions without breaking the strategic picture. That force should prove sufficient, especially if the II Legion would be acting as they ought, in a vanguard role with Imperial Army and Navy working to secure and garrison taken territories. The naval assets he could muster were likewise depleted in nature compared to the full force of the Molten Sons, with his flagship and three battleships, three linebreaker squadrons, five Avenger-class vessels each, as well as associated, various escorts being able to be drawn from the front lines. They would, or rather should, be enough for his purposes even against a deadly enemy.

Nevertheless, on deciding that the foe was adequately dangerous and that, in nearing the target in question he should prepare, Igneous rose from his seat. Synth-leather creaked and groaned, relieved as it was under the weight, and the Primarch absentmindedly closed the vast tome that had been before him, red velvet and all. The simple tunic was slowly shed for what was by far more fitting, servitors worked in their smooth, collective motions to place armor against body, breastplate against chest, black carapace against connector. Slowly, his armor was placed about him, and from behind the Primarch heard the door open. He did not need to be a Psyker to understand who had opened the door, who had come to inform him of the Navigator and other such bits of information. It was Paulus, one of his trusted Sons, one of the 1st Chapter. The man had spent time with the Legion, being one of those who had fought the Thunder Warriors on Terea, one of those who had been strong in character. Despite being called Father by him, despite being a Gene-son, despite the structures and hierarchy, in many ways they had more of a teacher-student relation, had a good deal more leeway. Nevertheless, Paulus kept by the structures, the hierarchy. He respected them.

"O Father, I dutifully report that the Navigator reports entry to the Dolgata system is imminent. Shall I muster an escort, sir?"

"Unnecessary, Paulus. The meeting is between myself and Father. In his light, I have no fear. Thank you for your concern, though."

Were the communication means by which the meeting was called for and the planet were any different, there may have been cause for concern, for ambush, for trickery. And yet, it was by and had been confirmed by the Emperor's Astropath, by his own seal, and the planet in question was one tasked for taking by the 5th and 8th Legions from ork infestations. The orks would not have been able to devise such trickery, to forge such intimate knowledge and Seal such as names, and those Legions were more than capable of dealing with orks. He'd seen their work. He knew their Mother and Father. It did occur to Igneous, in that time, that the campaign might draw more than one Primarch to it if the foe was serious enough. After all, Elyrian and Vasilisa had recently taken the world. If that were the case, then he had even less need for a guard. Besides, guards would not be allowed on account of the Custodes, the Tears would be a nuisance and likewise would be barred. The Custodes were thorough if nothing else.

"By your command, Father." A creak of armor as Paulus bowed his head ever so slightly. "A shuttle is ready to ferry you when we enter orbit."

"Thank you, Paulus. Dismissed."

Another creak, before his footsteps betrayed his exit. Silence filled the chamber, only the smooth clicks and hisses of mechanism and pneumatic betraying the work of the servitors, the whirring of bolts being set into place, the steady hum of magnetic locks. Igneous could feel them, the pieces, the armor, the room, and his eyes closed just so. The ship thrummed about him, miniscule vibrations betraying their Warp travel before...there. A hiss as the final piece of armor fell into place. A pause of silence and stillness as they exited the Warp. Igneous opened his eyes as the plasma engines came online, burning themselves in the void, and the Molten Sons made their approach to Dolgata. Igneous exited from his chamber quickly, moving through the passageways with long strides. Unadorned, tiled with white and blue, the walls plain metal girding, they were quiet, his footsteps filling the length of it, for few Molten Sons strode the same walkways as the officers did. Every now and again he found one though, and in turn they strpped out of his way, bowed their head curtly, and gave some form of greeting. Igneous moved on, giving his due replies to satisfy custom and little else. When he came upon the vast hangar bays, cavernous and ever-extending down the length of the vessel, no honor guard gave him sendoff, no rifle salute was held. No, instead of such grand things the Marine beside the door saluted, he stepped aboard the transport, and over the intercom of the massive vessel came a bell and a voice. It crackled to life before, with sharp distinction and noise and in pairs, there came eight bell tolls. They were measured, almost perfectly so.

"Captain, 2nd Legion, departing."

One last ring, and the intercom fell silent yet again. The Thunderhawk's engines roared to life, pilots already having permission, and Igneous was strapped down in his seat. Before him a small cogitator came online, presenting a holographic sphere to the Primarch as well as various dots about it. The planet had been swarmed by Imperial vessels of any make imagined, of vessels massive and small, and he could see the Legions present. Counting quickly there looked to be thirteen Legions present in total, most in only partial strength. Their fleets were arrayed about the planet, each keeping to their own for the likely purposes of easier disembarkment when they had finished the meeting, and on the whole had generally similar compositions to the fleet dispatch of the II Legion. The Sons of Calmora and Sun Angels were situated closest to the planet, as would befit their most recent status as conquerors of the world, while various Imperial Navy battle groups moved closer and farther depending presumably on their needs. Swarms of transports and ferries moved between the vast battleships, the barges and cruisers, and in that swarm Igneous’s transport became one among many.

Donning his helmet before exiting, the Primarch became simply one face among many, one Astartes among the armies of the Emperor, albeit one which was a good height taller than the rest. Most of the common soldiers paid little notice save for that which would be attributed to a normal Legionary. He didn’t expect them to pay much to a man slightly taller than the already tall giants. The Primarch could feel the miasma of emotion about him, the celebration and revelry as they set fireworks, some packing their tents and structures, some mustering for disembarkation, and things of that sort. It was nearly overwhelming, though not so much as to be unexpected. Igneous could see some of the Legionaries look up, though, up and see the bulk of the man, and when they did the Primarch saw their forms stiffen, their motions turn a bit more methodical, a bit more practiced. Nebulous thoughts and lists turned into pauses and honors rendered, some giving a simple nod in their recognition that he did not want or require the honors spent and given. Others gave him the Sign of the Aquila, something to which he simply rendered back. Needless to state, the man continued his march through the camps of Imperial Army, Auxilia, Legion, up to the palace. In the distance he could see the spires rise up, up into the heavens like the fingers of a fallen god trying to touch the very heavens. Dolgata was once a human world, a world of princes and princeling territories, of men ruling men. The orks came and slaughtered what was, though for the most part they had turned to ash just as the men did. In the distance, soldiers worked on removing their structures still. Briefly Igneous paused. The men here, those who built the towers, who tried to strive for more for themselves, perhaps more for their people, did they know who would remember them? Did they think about the future beyond the monument, the history that would be left if none who to which ruler of which dynasty built that spire in the greater beyond? Did they know their legacies would be bleached in blood? Perhaps not. Perhaps. They were dead, though, of this Igneous was certain. He continued his march, the strides purposeful.

He strode up the steps to the palace, those Sons of Calmora there barring his entry. The man had not expected to be let in without challenge, though; such a thing was expected. They gave their query as to his name and reason for attendance, likely perturbed by the fact that Igneous was of the Molten Sons, bore no recognizable insignia indicating he was a Primarch, and yet was of the height and build to be just the same. In response, the man removed his helmet, allowing the burnished red hair fall against his breastplate and about his gorget, helm held to one side, and the two Sons of Calmora bowed with the Sign of the Aquila, opening that door. Igneous strode through, hearing them close behind the footsteps, and could see Elyrian and Vasilisa there greeting others. Embracing both, the latter a bit more tenderly and gently than the former, before going inside. They all sat about the table, though some spoke and others didn’t. Igneous wasn’t a part of the first group, preferring instead to sit back and await Father. The meeting was not a social call, after all. And yet, it wasn’t he who entered, instead the golden armor of the Custodes striding into the room to be followed by a smaller figure. Malcador the Sigilite, the architect for so much, the confident for so much, and one teacher to Igneous. The Primarch enjoyed him, his work, some of his methods.

"Our Emperor sends his regrets that he could not come, but urgent matters aboard the Bucephelus keep him from attending. My Lord Primarchs, I come forward with grave news. The 78th and 901st Expeditionary Fleets, near here in the Kythonar Gulf, have been completely destroyed. No survivors." Malcador held up a hand to forestall the cries of outrage and denial." We believe this to be the work of Xenos, more specifically that of the Eldar. This is no doubt in an attempt to keep us from the Ishariel Sector. Instead of accomplishing that goal, however, the Emperor has ordained the Sector be cleansed of all life in retaliation for the loss of two fleets and for the repeated transgressions of the Eldar."


Two fleets dead, completely destroyed, with no survivors. Of the many things and pieces of news he expected to receive, that was not one of them. It made sense, of course, as such a collection of Primarchs would be performed for a punitive mission against an enemy who had already demonstrated a clear capability to destroy Imperial forces. That statement, however, made it clear that such a destruction had been with ease, not with simple clear capability, and the fact that no vessel survived made it clear something greater was afoot.

“Two whole fleets? Surprising. Well, we do have lots to talk about.”

“What you mean by cleansed? Do you want these worlds to be void of life in total? We can do that for you. These planets can easily be turned into quarry-worlds in the aftermath. No need to be kind to the wildlife and people here. Besides, there are plenty of other habitable worlds.”

“I assume you have a plan for us, Malcador? Of course, I don’t mind to plan for the whole campaign right now. It’ll simply be annoying to delay ourselves while we decide what to do. The overall goal is to burn the Eldar into dust. I understand that, but we need finer details to the whole campaign."


"You don't tell everything, so speak of it."


“If the Emperor demands it to be done,” Napoli yelled from his seat. “Then by his will, it shall be done! The Imperium will not be humiliated by this act of cowardice. Father just needs to send the word, The Emperor’s Talons will make short work of the Eldar!”


Igneous was comfortable, though a little surprised, by the statements of Samael. He was not one to speak often. He did, however, speak concisely and bluntly as was expected for the style of such a person comfortable with silence. Nikolai, likewise, was placid and calm, urging for some more information when none was there. In contrast, Napoli was a firebrand, a radical who wanted glory and plunder, who wanted some sort of gift and recognition, and in that vainglory Igneous was annoyed at the child. He did not let such a thing show on his face, however, as he merely listened.

"My heart is sore for the families of the Imperial Navy today. But it would be folly to see the trap sprung once, and then to walk into it again. We need reconnaissance. And reconnaissance means landing troops on these planets. So it might be wise to refrain from burning them to a crisp. If this is the will of the Emperor, the Hospitallers will see it done. But planning and preparation are a surer path to victory than pride and vengeance."


"Malcador, when you say cleansed of life, I must presume you mean of Xeno life, not those humans that had nothing to do with this attack correct?"


"I agree with Remigius, we need to be smart with this and not blindly go into another trap. We need to plan and prepare so we will not lose any more fleets and evict the Eldar from this sector with minimal losses".


“Sigilite, it is good to see you. I agree with Remigius. The complete destruction of two Expeditionary Fleets demonstrates that the foe holds a superiority in information or technology. The periphery of a system is vast, too vast for any Eldar fleet to maintain a continuous patrol while holding local superiority, and the destruction of those fleets with no survivors shows that the strike against them was rapid, negating any capacities for defense against the foe. They knew the exit point before the vessels emerged. We must not allow the Eldar to continue to hold that advantage over us. I hold three Raider detachments at this time. At your will, they may aid in the reconnaissance of those systems, along with your Hospitallers, Remigius.”

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Skaldia
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Postby Skaldia » Sun Mar 15, 2020 7:51 pm

Malcador the Sigillite

“Two whole fleets? Surprising. Well, we do have lots to talk about.”

The first to speak up after Malcador’s pronouncement had been Samael of the 19th Legion. It had been surprising to hear him be the first to speak. Normally, Samael had been terse in his infrequent replies to the Imperium at large. And he had gone out of his way to remain elusive, working alone in the depths of space. The fact that he had started off with such a reply had been unusual but Malcador decided to give the Primarch time to continue before Malcador responded.

“What you mean by cleansed? Do you want these worlds to be void of life in total? We can do that for you. These planets can easily be turned into quarry-worlds in the aftermath. No need to be kind to the wildlife and people here. Besides, there are plenty of other habitable worlds.”

Malcador was not surprised by Samael wanting to turn the worlds into massive quarries. He had done the same to other worlds in the past. Malcador almost chose that moment to speak but instead thought it best to let other Primarchs speak. He would ignore Samael’s odd loquaciousness and see how the other Primarchs took his words.

“I assume you have a plan for us, Malcador? Of course, I don’t mind to plan for the whole campaign right now. It’ll simply be annoying to delay ourselves while we decide what to do. The overall goal is to burn the Eldar into dust. I understand that, but we need finer details to the whole campaign."

Malcador cleared his throat and raised a hand to forestall Samael continuing.”An ancient Terran saying, ‘the devil is in the details’, I think would apply here, my Lord Primarch.”

"You don't tell everything. So speak of it.”

Nikolai had been far more terse, characteristic of him. Compared to the flood of words delivered by Samael, it was refreshing to see Nikolai continue to be his normally laconic self.”And so I shall, Lord Sentinel.”

“If the Emperor demands it to be done, then by his will, it shall be done! The Imperium will not be humiliated by this act of cowardice. Father just needs to send the word, The Emperor’s Talons will make short work of the Eldar!”

Malcador gave a thin smile at the smallest Primarch’s words. Just like Napoli to be so desperate to win the approval of his Father. Malcador could not fault Napoli for feeling such a way, but felt someone not as magnanimous as Malcador could easily use that to manipulate the youngest of the Primarchs.

"My heart is sore for the families of the Imperial Navy today. But it would be folly to see the trap sprung once, and then to walk into it again. We need reconnaissance. And reconnaissance means landing troops on these planets. So it might be wise to refrain from burning them to a crisp. If this is the will of the Emperor, the Hospitallers will see it done. But planning and preparation are a surer path to victory than pride and vengeance."

Of course it would be the calm words of Remigius to urge prudence in the matter. Of all the Primarchs, Malcador felt the most pity for Remigius, a healer in the body of a Demigod. Regardless, Malcador was beginning to detect a certain theme running through each of the Primarchs’ words, but knew there were others who would wish to speak before Malcador explained.

"Malcador, when you say cleansed of life, I must presume you mean of Xeno life, not those humans that had nothing to do with this attack correct?"

Malcador turned his eyes upon the Calmoran. Of course it would be Elyrian to urge protecting the few humans found in the Ishariel Sector. How best to not break the massive Primarch’s hearts by declaring those few humans as heretic and thus not worthy of being brought into the light of the Imperium?

"I agree with Remigius, we need to be smart with this and not blindly go into another trap. We need to plan and prepare so we will not lose any more fleets and evict the Eldar from this sector with minimal losses.”

The unusual Miztli spoke next. As Malcador expected, the Primarch of the Obsidian Warriors had also spoke of caution.

“Sigilite, it is good to see you. I agree with Remigius. The complete destruction of two Expeditionary Fleets demonstrates that the foe holds a superiority in information or technology. The periphery of a system is vast, too vast for any Eldar fleet to maintain a continuous patrol while holding local superiority, and the destruction of those fleets with no survivors shows that the strike against them was rapid, negating any capacities for defense against the foe. They knew the exit point before the vessels emerged. We must not allow the Eldar to continue to hold that advantage over us. I hold three Raider detachments at this time. At your will, they may aid in the reconnaissance of those systems, along with your Hospitallers, Remigius.”


Leave it to Igneous to say the sensible things. Indeed, the Eldar had shown a perturbing insight to Imperial operations and had carried out the destruction of 78th and 901st Fleets with uncanny brilliance and ruthlessness. Igneous had also discerned the exact methods to which the Emperor wished to begin this Crusade and for that Malcador could not help but respect Igneous for his deductive abilities.

“This will not be rushed, I assure you my Lord Primarchs.” Malcador said to the aseembled Primarchs and Imperial officers.”The Ishariel Sector needs to be properly reconnoitered. To that end, I leave it to the Molten Sons, Hospitallers, and Obsidian Warriors to conduct reconnaissance operations in the Sector to determine the overall situation in the Sector. If you can, strike at those Xenos who have so grievously harmed us but remember that this the objective is reconnaissance first. Do not get mired in a shooting war.”

Malcador faced Elyrian and spoke softly,"Rest assured, Lord Primarch, human life in the Sector will be considered off-limits to slaughter. However, I fear the humans in the sector might have fallen under the sway of their Xenos masters." He finished, sadly.

“While this is going on, the Emperor’s Shield,” Malcador paused at voicing the moniker coined by the 1st Primarch,”Will make this world into a fortress. To that end, the Adeptus Mechanicus has promised their full support. Part of the reason why the Emperor could not be here was discussing this issue with the Mechanicus. They have agreed to send millions of their workers to this world to prepare it for the upcoming Crusade.” Part of what Malcador had said had been a lie. The agreement with the Adeptus Mechanicus had been made before the Emperor had sent Malcador. In truth, Malcador did not know why the Emperor had refused to land on Dolgota. But in this matter it was important to say something on the matter, rather than nothing.

Malcador turned to Oberon,”You will be chosen to prepare the orbital and system defenses of this system. You will also join Icarion and Elyrian,” Malcador gestured in their direction,”With engaging in fleet operations in the Gulf to hunt down the actual enemies that destroyed the Emperor’s Fleets. We have reason to believe they might be operating in the Gulf still.” It was a thankless task to assign the 1st, 8th, and 9th Legions, not least of which because it most likely would come to nothing. The Eldar were notorious for being elusive prey.

“Cyprig.” Malcador spoke now to the Primarch of the Night Haunters,”You will coordinate logistics into the system to the best of your ability.” It had been decided to give the Night Haunters something to do rather than leaving them to their own devices. The 20th Legion was notorious in it's persecution of the Great Crusade and not a few of the other Primarchs had privately expressed their disdain for Cyprig and the Night Haunters.

"This will be the largest undertaking of the entire Great Crusade, ladies and gentlemen. The Ishariel Sector is the jewel of the Segmentum. Have no doubt, this Crusade will be the hardest fight we have had. But, with the Emperor at the helm, and with his chosen sons- and daughter-,"He nodded in the Lady Primarch's direction,"we shall prevail."

With that, Malcador turned on his heel and shuffled out of the Chamber, the pair of Adeptus Custodes falling behind the Regent as he left the room. As soon as he had left, silence had fallen in the Chamber as each Primarch and Imperial officer mulled over the words of the Regent.

The first to speak was Icarion.

"Well. That was unexpected."
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Ameriganastan
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Postby Ameriganastan » Sun Mar 15, 2020 10:57 pm

"Oh, did he leave already? Well, spares me having to hear him drone on. I can't fathom how Father stands that man's company. He's a terrible bore, really. Probably explains why you like him so much, Igneous."

Arriving late to the gathering and not really seeming bothered by the fact was the leader of the 13th Legion, the ever tardy Coracus Isserec, Primarch of the Blades of Solus.

"Brothers, sister, whatever Cyprig is. A pleasure to see all of you again. I'd have gotten here sooner, but Gadriel made a snide comment about my blade-work being sloppy. So we sparred a touch to prove he was wrong...and that sparring session kind of lasted several hours. I often forget why I made him the Emperor's Scimitar. Fellow sure can swing a blade. So, what did I miss? I imagine Samael must have talked poor Malcador's ear off, eh. Ha!"

For a 13 foot tall superhuman weapon in Power Armor, Coracus tended to act like a joking teenager around the others. And that meant giving his siblings the business.

"Ah, I see Napoli and Remigius made it. Whose shoulders did they have to sit on to see the proceedings properly? Haha!"
Last edited by Ameriganastan on Sun Mar 15, 2020 11:04 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Ormata
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Postby Ormata » Mon Mar 16, 2020 1:29 am

Image
Primarch Igneous
II Legion
Dolgata


“This will not be rushed, I assure you my Lord Primarchs. The Ishariel Sector needs to be properly reconnoitered. To that end, I leave it to the Molten Sons, Hospitallers, and Obsidian Warriors to conduct reconnaissance operations in the Sector to determine the overall situation in the Sector. If you can, strike at those Xenos who have so grievously harmed us but remember that this the objective is reconnaissance first. Do not get mired in a shooting war.”

“While this is going on, the Emperor’s Shield will make this world into a fortress. To that end, the Adeptus Mechanicus has promised their full support. Part of the reason why the Emperor could not be here was discussing this issue with the Mechanicus. They have agreed to send millions of their workers to this world to prepare it for the upcoming Crusade.”

“You will be chosen to prepare the orbital and system defenses of this system. You will also join Icarion and Elyrian with engaging in fleet operations in the Gulf to hunt down the actual enemies that destroyed the Emperor’s Fleets. We have reason to believe they might be operating in the Gulf still.”

“Cyprig.” Malcador spoke now to the Primarch of the Night Haunters,”You will coordinate logistics into the system to the best of your ability.”

"This will be the largest undertaking of the entire Great Crusade, ladies and gentlemen. The Ishariel Sector is the jewel of the Segmentum. Have no doubt, this Crusade will be the hardest fight we have had. But, with the Emperor at the helm, and with his chosen sons- and daughter-,"He nodded in the Lady Primarch's direction,"we shall prevail."

The first to speak was Icarion.

"Well. That was unexpected."


“Quite, Brother. Quite.”

He had been charged with the reconnoitering of a region of space and, in all likelihood, was somewhat troubled by the requirements of such actions. The task at hand, as well as those forces to which his own would be operating with, both of those factors troubled him. Forces would have to be placed in system, ships small enough as to bypass detection. At best, he estimated a frigate could move into the system, insert Raiders and associated forces by drop-pod or Thunderhawk Transporter, before extracting the frigate prior to eventual detection. Forces therein would have to communicate sparsely, perhaps exiting by the same Thunderhawks to be picked-up by frigate. Igneous estimated a few months for the operation as a whole, to gather the required information, though that made the twin assumptions that the mission on the planet would be successful and the mission by the frigate would be successful. There was a minimum three periods that everyone could die and the information could be lost and, while he had significant trust in the skill of his Raiders, the Primarch still could not deny that metal was merely metal. The hulls of their ships were not reinforced by experience, the engines not bolstered by spirit. They were ships, simply that.

The forces which were assigned to Igneous’s troops worried him as well. The Hospitallers, despite their various skills and abilities, operated far differently than his Raiders. They built up the local support, built up their spies and symbols, their methods. They built up that, gathered their information, and did so quite well. The Spectres of the Obsidian Warriors were strong, this was true enough, armed as they were with rifles and explosives, but their need to disrupt the enemy forces would clash greatly to the silent efforts of the Hospitallers. They would plant explosives, killing many and angering a populace that Remigius’s sons would be trying to placate and show the glories of the Imperium. The Raiders, likewise, would be performing precise strikes and detonations while gathering intelligence. Nevertheless, his Raiders could not perform actions in whole; they needed support and, whatever misgivings Igneous might have on their methods, one could not deny their skill and abilities. Briefly he entertained the idea of offering his Raider detachments as transport, but this would mean placing even more resources into one highly destructible ship. No, it was better for them to insert and extract separately. It was safer.

And yet, another entered the chamber a few whiles after the Sigilite and Custodes left. It was another Primarch, one who Igneous already held some dislike for, Coracus Isserec, of the 13th Legion, and the man was not of the most serious nature. His eyes narrowed as the Primarch sauntered in, a sway in his walk, the tone of his voice joking.

"Oh, did he leave already? Well, spares me having to hear him drone on. I can't fathom how Father stands that man's company. He's a terrible bore, really. Probably explains why you like him so much, Igneous."

Arriving late to the gathering and not really seeming bothered by the fact was the leader of the 13th Legion, the ever tardy Coracus Isserec, Primarch of the Blades of Solus.

"Brothers, sister, whatever Cyprig is. A pleasure to see all of you again. I'd have gotten here sooner, but Gadriel made a snide comment about my blade-work being sloppy. So we sparred a touch to prove he was wrong...and that sparring session kind of lasted several hours. I often forget why I made him the Emperor's Scimitar. Fellow sure can swing a blade. So, what did I miss? I imagine Samael must have talked poor Malcador's ear off, eh. Ha!"

For a 13 foot tall superhuman weapon in Power Armor, Coracus tended to act like a joking teenager around the others. And that meant giving his siblings the business.

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


His voice was a growl, low, restrained. Igneous made a point to ignore the man’s flagrant flaunting of his laugh, his lack of respect for the Sigilite, his lack of respect for Remigius. In all respects, the Primarch of the II felt that his brother had never grown up, even after two centuries of warfare. It annoyed him. “Two Expeditionary Fleets destroyed by Eldar near the Kythonar Gulf. No survivors left. We have been tasked to clear this plague and take the Ishariel Sector.”
Last edited by Ormata on Mon Mar 16, 2020 1:50 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Endem
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Postby Endem » Mon Mar 16, 2020 2:14 am

Nikolai
The Spire

Malcador explained what he needed to explain, and promptly left, leaving the Primarchs to their own devices, Nikolai was tasked with the fortification of this planet, and thus it will be ensured that this planet will sooner need to be destroyed before it will fall into the hands of enemy, no doubt such a undertaking will take months, but of everything there was, time, was something a primarch, unfortunately, had much to spare.

Nikolai sighed at the flurry of words the late Coracus, not at the fact he said it, but of what he said, he and Coracus didn't have the best of relations, at least what Nikolai perceives, even if Nikolal can't help but feel a brotherly love for all of his siblings ( with the notable exception of Cyprig ), Nikolai was afraid many of them did not share this sentiment, the late Primarch asked for information of what was talked about, and Nikolai would answer it, if it wasn't for Igenous who did it first.

The Primarch got up from his seat and walked over to Titus, his face hidden behind his helmet, Nikolai began "Brother, me, you, Napoli and Remigius have much to discuss" he was obviously referring to the fact they were assigned to fortify this planet, and as always, Nikolai's words and delivery was short.
Last edited by Endem on Mon Mar 16, 2020 2:24 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Antimersia » Mon Mar 16, 2020 7:58 am

Cyprig

Malcador spoke, and Cyprig listened intently. His wide, psychotic smile washed away from his face as he was given his orders. Logistics is certainly a necessary task at the start of any crusade, let alone one shaping up to be so massive. But Cyprig knew that Malcador assigned him to it as more of an effort to occupy his time rather than belief in Cyprig's abilities. A fact that Cyprig took somewhat personally, especially considering the ire he draws from his fellow Primarchs. Although Cyprig would never show his disapproval. His face remains straight, calm, and almost stone like as he watches Malcador dole out the rest of the assignments and the leave the chamber. The sound of his shuffling feet now grinding on Cyprig's nerves as his disposition has drastically shifted.

Cyprig unceremoniously ignores Coracus, the juvenile jabs of whom Cyprig cares very little for. He lifts his helmet off of the table and slowly slides it on his head, locking it into place. He stands up from his seat, and takes a long deep breath. The sound of which is deep and distorted by the helmet he is wearing. Cyprig stands for several minutes, taking long deep breaths. He stands so perfectly motionless that one might mistake him for a statue. Although his cybernetic eyes are moving rather quickly. He scans the room and spire around him, gathering every bit of intel he can as his Primarch brethren discuss and plan their next moves. Once he is satisfied he turns towards the exit.

"Come Archem, it is time we began out work." Cyprig says in a dejected tone. He begins to walk out, his long strides making him travel quickly.

"Yes Sir!" Archem replies, his anxiety making him jump when he hears his name uttered. The pair walk back to the vessel they landed on. Archem begins to board, but Cyprig does not. "Are you coming sir?" Archem asks, confused.

"Not yet, Arhcem." Cyrpig pauses. He turns around and begins to study the area around him. "Head back up to the Arcana. Get into contact with commanding officers from each of the other legions. We must coordinate the arrival of further reinforcements, as well as supplies. I noticed that Elyrian has many of the 8th's ships in low orbit just above us. Give the order for them to pull back into upper orbit so supply ships may access the ground more readily. I will remain here and do a sweep for anything that might be salvageable for the library. While I am away from the helm you speak with my authority." Cyprig steps closer to Archem, towering over him and looking down into his eyes. His voice grows deep and threatening. "Do not disappoint me."

"Never Sir!" Archem replies, loudly and proudly.

"Wonderful. I will see you soon then. Safe travels." Cyrpig says as he walks away from the ship, his tone and disposition shifting to a more jovial one on the drop of a hat. Cyprig strides on as the ship takes off and heads back to the Arcana. Cyprig begins to walk around, kicking through the rubble of buildings he passes by, hoping to find anything with knowledge or information within it to take and preserve.

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Postby Reverend Norv » Mon Mar 16, 2020 1:46 pm

Captain Lukas Sollis listened as one demi-god after another spoke, and his eyes moved thoughtfully from one primarch to the next. Malcador's response was impressive in its concision. Lukas saw Remigius nod briefly, unsurprised, when the Hospitallers - one of the smaller legions - were nevertheless assigned two jobs at once: they were to reconnoiter the Ishariel Sector, while also assisting the other legions of the Emperor's Shield in fortifying Dolgota. And Lukas noticed the slightest glimmer of amusement - was that even schadenfreude? - behind his primarch's eyes when Cyprig was assigned to organize logistics.

And then, with a few words of tepid reassurance, it was over. Malcador swept out of the chamber, followed by the Custodes. And Icarion announced: "Well. That was unexpected."

Remigius looked up at that, and stared directly at his elder brother. For the first time, Lukas saw real worry in the primarch's face. And he suddenly understood: for Icarion, nothing was supposed to be unexpected.

Something was wrong. Remigius gave Lukas a glance, and then gathered himself, and his brow smoothed. But Lukas had seen the truth clearly enough. Something was wrong, all right.

Astartes knew no fear. Lukas felt something grim and cold settle in his gut all the same.

But before he could dwell upon it, Coracus Isserec breezed into the throne room, managing to poke fun at Malcador, Igneous, Cyprig, and Samael within five seconds - and that was before calling Napoli and Remigius short. Lukas stood head and shoulders taller than a normal man, and Remigius stood head and shoulders taller than him - but the primarch still only came up to Coracus' shoulder. Still: Remigius' smile was broad and genuine, and he shook his head and chuckled. But the primarch's smile faded at Igneous' recitation of the situation - and, with it, his reminder of all the Imperial lives that had so recently been lost.

As Cyprig swept out of the room - after an unnervingly long interval of standing motionless and breathing loudly through his helmet - Nikolai marched over to Titus and began discussing the defense of the planet. Remigius stood from his throne, and gave one last, long look back at the statue of the prince that loomed above it.

Just men, Remgius had said, when Lukas asked about the princes. For the first time, Lukas wondered what that really meant. He wrote his mother every month - but could even he recall what it was like to be just a man?

Remigius walked over to the other primarchs of the Emperor's Shield, hands in the pockets of his plain brown robe. "Much to discuss," Remigius nodded. "True enough." He looked up at Titus. "Most of my Marines will be needed for the reconnaissance of the Sector. But those who remain, together with the Discimen Rangers, should suffice to organize the construction of civil infrastructure. This planet is about to get about a hundred million new residents. We can make sure there is housing, heating, water, medical infrastructure, and transportation available to accommodate them." The Healer nodded to Napoli. "Naturally, we could use all the extra hands we can get in that project."
Last edited by Reverend Norv on Mon Mar 16, 2020 4:08 pm, edited 2 times in total.
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647

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Kyavan
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Founded: Jan 09, 2019
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Postby Kyavan » Tue Mar 17, 2020 9:28 am

Oberon's head was full of plans for the crusade. His legion would be spearheading the battle in the void! Finally, they could avenge the loss they had suffered at the hands of the dying eldar. He flashed a rare smile under his helmet, the void was his home and it would be the crucible of this war. Already, Oberon was running through hundreds of different approaches to the crusade. And then his train of thought was interrupted by his brother,

"Well. That was unexpected."

Oberon looked at his brother for a moment, the ruby eyes of his helmet flashing in the afternoon light. He shook his head and turned towards Consul Giaus' position on the other side of the room.

Giaus met his Primarch's gaze and made the sign of the cross on his chest. The Primarch returned it and stood pointed one armored finger at the door. "Inform the Legion." the finger seemed to say. Giaus nodded and rushed out of the room.

Before Oberon himself could leave, Coracus Isserec thundered into the throne room, insulting five primarchs and the sigillite himself within minutes. Oberon found it ironic how his little brother called two of their siblings short while Oberon was a full foot taller than him. Still, Oberon despised Coracus. The two were polar opposites in all regards. Oberon was world-weary, the weight of all he had lost and that could be lost weighed heavy on the warrior's soldiers. Coracus seemed to be perpetually fifteen and acted liked it.

As more and more of his siblings began to file out of the room, Oberon remained. He removed the gothic helm of St.Peter II and set it infront of him. His long blonde hair tumbling down to his shoulders. The sun seemed to illuminate his grim, angular features making him seem almost skeletal. His brow furrowed in an almost permanent frown and scars traced their way down the left side of his face, courtesy of the Suul-Jan craftworld eldar. His greatest enemy, and most satisfying kill.
Image


Turning his sad eyes towards the entrance, where the shadows of the princes grew long. He sighed and watched as the those in the Emperor's Shield conversed about new Fortress Dolgata.

Oberon decided to simply sit there and ponder the crusade. Already he was itching to return to theRepentia but duty dictated that he remain here. Instead choosing to remember all the terrors of the Fallen's crusade again Suul-Jan and the horrors faced in the bowels of that false world. Oberon closed his eyes for a moment and remembered...
Oberon roared in fury as another of the spindly green-armored eldar's blades bit into his back. Whirling around, Oberon planted the right fist of god into the xenos' chest obliterating the frail thing's torso. He ripped the weapon free of his armor and pushed deeper into the hostile ship. Everywhere around him, the bodies of eldar were piled high. He'd been here before. Oberon could here fighting above him, the sound of plasma weaponry firing and the grim chanting of the 9th legion. He was close, so so very close! A pair of great wraithbone doors stood before him, barred shut. Oberon glared at them and channeled the wrath of 5 years stuck in the bowels of a craftworld into the punch. The doors collapsed under the force of his fist and the Emperor's Despair entered the great room.

Before him, stood the great outline of a Wraithlord. As soon as Oberon's armored boot crossed the threshold, the construct sprung to life. Raising its massive blade and pointing it at him, two score smaller constructs rose out of the walls and brandished all a manner of strange weaponry. Oberon took a deep breath and removed his helm for the first time in thirty years. The construct lowered its blade and took long strides towards the beaten Primarch. Oberon let loose hoarse roar of defiance and charged towards the towering being. Primarch and Wraithlord intertwined together in the dark crucible of the infinity circuit. The construct was the first to land a blow, its massive saber cutting into the flesh of Oberon's face and knocking him to the ground. Screaming in fury, Oberon threw a punch up into it's leg and cleaved it in two. The strange being did its best to swing downward as it fell but he rolled out of the way. Oberon brought his boot above the thing's head and slammed it down. The other Wraithguard now charged him and a host of strangely clothed eldar entered the room the way Oberon had come in. Oberon grit his teeth and held his ground; if he died here, these bastard xenos would die with him!

Oberon fell to his knees, exhausted. Around him lay the bodies of scores of eldar and the broken constructs of the Wraithguard. There was a strange sound from the body-choked archway. Oberon wiped the blood off his face and looked towards its origin. An eldar moved slowly towards him, arm extended. Oberon struggled to stand and meat this new foe but he could not, his legs wouldn't move. The being drew closer and closer before it was standing over the wounded warrior. Its hand, wreathed in blue light touched Oberon's forehead. "Hush son of the Emperor. Your fate has been sealed." And the world went black...

The next thing Oberon remembered was waking up surrounded by the familiar faces of the Praetorians and Consul Giaus. They had retrieved him from the strange room and got him on board the Repentia. What the xenos witch did to him, Oberon did not know. He turned towards Giaus,

"How many... did we lose." the Primarch croaked.

"Fifteen cohorts. It's Signus Prime all over again." Giaus whispered, tears streaming down his weathered face.

"I see..." Oberon said softly.

"We thought we'd lost you as well father. I- we couldn't stop looking."

"How long?"

"Five years."

"Vengeance?"

"The giant ship has been destroyed. Our loss has been avenged."

Oberon nodded silently before final explosion splintered the craftworld.


Oberon jerked awake, tears streaming down his face. He turned his attention back to the datapad, nothing like the incident on Suul-Jan would ever happen again. He was going to make sure of it.
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Northern Poland
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Postby Northern Poland » Tue Mar 17, 2020 1:18 pm

Mercaekha Taristus


He sat there, as legions were assigned tasks. He was one that didn't receive a preparation task, being delegated to Training, waiting, and bringing up units. He was amused as Cyprig was given the task of organizing logistics, a soul-crushing task for someone of such great pride. He watched the Primarch walk away, in how he saw it, shame. Malcador had wandered off the second he finished, followed by the Custodes. He signaled for his XO to come over, "Brother Sachiel, raise the Fleet by Astropath, call them to this System. We must prepare our legion for the upcoming crusade." The Duo walked to the landing pad, with the XO getting on the Thunderhawk.

"You Know Your Duty, Sachiel."

"Yes, My lord, I will do as you command."

Mercaekha gave him a salute, as the Thunderhawk lifted off into the Sky. He turned back, marching back into the chamber, full still of Primarchs. He looked upon the statues, and took in the entire room, as he had when he first marched in. He arrived just in time to hear his brother Insults to his siblings. He looked at him, a harsh look accompanying his gaze at him. "Was that necessary? This isn't a time for Jeers at our siblings, keep it professional." His opinion of him and Cyprig where one in the same, very sour, but the insults were not needed.

He thought of the experiences with the dark Eldar that had decimated outer worlds, and the losses the legion took suppressing them. These Eldar, they strike without warning, and usually, run before a larger force can be brought to bear to defeat them. As it seems now, these Eldar might be making a stand, albeit one that wouldn't last for long, as the Legions bring the light of the Emperor to the farthest corners of the Galaxy. They would need to train most of the Auxilia and some of the Legionnaires to better fight the Eldar, and whatever other forces dwelled in the region, that the recon would certainly bring to light. Speaking of that, he should talk to his fellow primarchs about their Assignment or Lack thereof.

He Sighed, and looked to the fellow Primarchs without assignment, "Well Brothers, It seems like we have preparations to get to, No?"
Last edited by Northern Poland on Tue Mar 17, 2020 3:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Endem
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Postby Endem » Tue Mar 17, 2020 5:49 pm

Abell Tyrann

The shuttle was roking, the machine spirits were perturbed today, and Abell being a faithful servant of the Omnissiah tried to calm them, and it seemed to work as the machine spirits eventually became appeased and allowed the shuttle to land, aboard was only Abell and a handful of Skitarii who acted as his personal bodyguards. Once this Archmagos was a position of power in the internal politics of Cult Mechanicus on holly Mars itself.

The red robes waved on the wind of the launchpad as the Skitarii and the Archmagos strode forwards, the lights of their eye prosthetics illuminating the path ahead, the light-blue light of the Skitarii and the dark-green light of the Archmagos went forward, then their master spoke to the Skitarii
"01000111 01101111 00100000 01100110 01101001 01110010 01110011 01110100"
he said to his Skitarii with one of them replying
"01011001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01000001 01110010 01100011 01101000 01101101 01100001 01100111 01101111 01110011 00101100 00100000 01000111 01101100 01101111 01110010 01111001 00100000 01010100 01101111 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001111 01101101 01101110 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101000"


Thus the armored Skitarii went ahead and only the green light of the Archmagos's eye prosthetics illuminated the launchpad, as he felt the need to say this
"01000001 01110100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01110011 01110100 00101100 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101110 01101001 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101101 01100101 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01110010 01110101 01110011 01100001 01100100 01100101 00100000 01100110 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110011 01101000 00101100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01100001 01100010 01110010 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01101111 01110010 00101101 01000111 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 00101100 00100000 01000111 01101100 01101111 01110010 01111001 00100000 01010100 01101111 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001111 01101101 01101110 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101000"
he then continued onwards.

Eventually he came to the great hall of the Princes of Dolgota, his Skitarii already at the door, waiting for him to give the sign to open it, he did so and the Skitarii then opened the door, revealing the chamber before him, and the Primarchs gathered, not all of them mind you, some have already departed, some could not come to the crusade in time "Welcome, my Lords, I am the representative of the Mechanicum to this planet, to provide aid from Cult Mechanicus, I believe we have much to discuss on many matters" said the Archmagos with a distinctive metallic ring in his voice.
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Theyra
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Postby Theyra » Tue Mar 17, 2020 9:52 pm

Miztli Huitzilihuitl

So that is how this war will be handled, Miztli thought as the Malcador left the room. Miztli will be working with the Igneous and Remigius to recon the sector. He and his legion do have experience with dealing with Eldar though not as much as his other brothers and sisters. So at least he has some idea on how to fight and to avoid the Eldar while his legion is reconning the sector.

The first thing that was said well that was unexpected by Icarion. Which Miztli can understand why he said that no one thought that Malcador the Sigillite was going in the emperor's place. Then Coracus entered late and insult Malcador and some of the other Primarchs. So he was called to be here and I hope he had a good reason to be late, Miztli sighed before turning to his XO, Youn who was sitting behind Miztli. Whispering to him, "Gather the legion, tell of our task and readied them for the recon".

"Whispering back, "Yes my Primarch", You made a short bow and left the room.

Miztli turned his gaze back to the room and found that some of his brothers were talking with each other. Already starting to prepare for the coming crusade and he should start to do the same. As he was about to walk over, the representative of Mechanicum had arrived. Making his presence known to the Primarchs. Miztli at the moment had little reason to talk to the Archmagos and instead walked over to Remigius. "Brother I am glad we will be working together and I trust you have been well". Miztli cracked a small smile, "We should start to coordinate our forces and plan our approach into the sector".

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Ameriganastan
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Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Ameriganastan » Wed Mar 18, 2020 1:02 pm

Northern Poland wrote:
Mercaekha Taristus


He sat there, as legions were assigned tasks. He was one that didn't receive a preparation task, being delegated to Training, waiting, and bringing up units. He was amused as Cyprig was given the task of organizing logistics, a soul-crushing task for someone of such great pride. He watched the Primarch walk away, in how he saw it, shame. Malcador had wandered off the second he finished, followed by the Custodes. He signaled for his XO to come over, "Brother Sachiel, raise the Fleet by Astropath, call them to this System. We must prepare our legion for the upcoming crusade." The Duo walked to the landing pad, with the XO getting on the Thunderhawk.

"You Know Your Duty, Sachiel."

"Yes, My lord, I will do as you command."

Mercaekha gave him a salute, as the Thunderhawk lifted off into the Sky. He turned back, marching back into the chamber, full still of Primarchs. He looked upon the statues, and took in the entire room, as he had when he first marched in. He arrived just in time to hear his brother Insults to his siblings. He looked at him, a harsh look accompanying his gaze at him. "Was that necessary? This isn't a time for Jeers at our siblings, keep it professional." His opinion of him and Cyprig where one in the same, very sour, but the insults were not needed.

He thought of the experiences with the dark Eldar that had decimated outer worlds, and the losses the legion took suppressing them. These Eldar, they strike without warning, and usually, run before a larger force can be brought to bear to defeat them. As it seems now, these Eldar might be making a stand, albeit one that wouldn't last for long, as the Legions bring the light of the Emperor to the farthest corners of the Galaxy. They would need to train most of the Auxilia and some of the Legionnaires to better fight the Eldar, and whatever other forces dwelled in the region, that the recon would certainly bring to light. Speaking of that, he should talk to his fellow primarchs about their Assignment or Lack thereof.

He Sighed, and looked to the fellow Primarchs without assignment, "Well Brothers, It seems like we have preparations to get to, No?"

"Oh, forgive my rudeness brother dear. Some of us actually enjoy having the occasional bit of fun in-between slaughtering Xeno scum."

Coracus didn't hate any of his siblings. But Mercaekha was definitely high on the list of those who annoyed him. Partly because of his stolid personality, but mostly because their pasts were so opposite. Coracus a desert warlord who once survived on cave bugs and conquered a death world with sword and spear. Mercaekha the academy type who was raised by a general and had proper tech to assist in his conquests. If one looked close, it bordered on jealousy at times. Not that Coracus would ever admit to being jealous of anyone.

"I'll be professional once we encounter those skinny xeno bastards and I rip their scrawny arms from their sockets. Eldar. So boring. Why can't it be the Greenskins? Now they provide a decent challenge. I haven't got to sharpen my blade on an Ork skull in so long. Eldar are so droll. But who knows. Maybe your Legion will be afflicted with cowardice again when they see them. That would certainly liven things up a touch. How is the 76th company these days, brother dear?"

He laughed again, but this was more a cruel chuckle than a genuine laugh.

"Do let me know if they get out of hand again. I'm sure I could help sort them out for you."
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Kyavan
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Postby Kyavan » Wed Mar 18, 2020 3:56 pm

Ameriganastan wrote:"Oh, forgive my rudeness brother dear. Some of us actually enjoy having the occasional bit of fun in-between slaughtering Xeno scum."

Coracus didn't hate any of his siblings. But Mercaekha was definitely high on the list of those who annoyed him. Partly because of his stolid personality, but mostly because their pasts were so opposite. Coracus a desert warlord who once survived on cave bugs and conquered a death world with sword and spear. Mercaekha the academy type who was raised by a general and had proper tech to assist in his conquests. If one looked close, it bordered on jealousy at times. Not that Coracus would ever admit to being jealous of anyone.

"I'll be professional once we encounter those skinny xeno bastards and I rip their scrawny arms from their sockets. Eldar. So boring. Why can't it be the Greenskins? Now they provide a decent challenge. I haven't got to sharpen my blade on an Ork skull in so long. Eldar are so droll. But who knows. Maybe your Legion will be afflicted with cowardice again when they see them. That would certainly liven things up a touch. How is the 76th company these days, brother dear?"

He laughed again, but this was more a cruel chuckle than a genuine laugh.

"Do let me know if they get out of hand again. I'm sure I could help sort them out for you."


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

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

"Brothers, if you require assistance in fortifying the planet in the void I would be happy to help" He added in the direction of the Primarchs of the Emperor's Shield.
We Fight and Die on Foreign Soil so That Our People May Live and Prosper on Ours.

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