[IC] Chronicles of The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP Side Thread]

[agentmanatee]

Event: Decimation on Eden Secundus

Location: Eden Secundus, Karrack System

Date: 831 M.30

Parties involved:Blazing Sister 4th Company, Bloody Host 4th, 6th, and 2nd Grand Companies

Battle raged on Eden Secundus, the Bloody Host was in what seemed to be a rage as they destroyed those that had survived the initial battle. This was something that the Emperor could not stand by, and when he had learned it was taking place he ordered his daughter Farah to put an end to the situation. She had thus dispatched the fourth company lead by Captain Penthesilla to take care of the problem. Captain Antimache had also volunteered leading Farah's personal Honor Guard to represent the Primarch during the altercation. Captain Penthesilla stared at the drop pod she was about to enter, and then down the ranger of the hanger as the rest of her sisters loaded aboard their ships, and other drop pods. She took a deep breath and stepped inside followed by five of her sisters all of them dressed in terminator armor, prepared to do the work that their Mother Primarch had sent them to do.

The drop planet side was normal, she was used to them, Captain Penthesilla had done it before a hundred times. What was to come once she got there would be completely different, as she had never found herself facing down another Astartes before. The sky filled with streaks of flame as hundreds of drop pods fell towards the capital of the world, Penthesilla's own drop pod aiming to land right in front of the Capital building itself as that was where the Grand Captain had supposedly been. Coming in rather quickly behind the drop pods were Stormbirds one of them housing Captain Antimache, the rest of the honor guard with her. They filled the sky making it dark. Giving a show of force that would hopefully put an end to the Bloody host's actions on Eden Secundus.

Captain Illius stood within the Capital building, the Laberynthine structure was riddled with bullet holes and bodies. Before him on their knees were the pitiful leaders of this planet, most of them were sobbing uncontrollably as Exquesor General Marcus Larenthes lectured them, "You have betrayed the Emperor and your own race! Your filthy and pitiful hides will receive the Emperors judgement! You deserve the ultimate punishment for your resistance to your one and only Emperor!", the weak spined Governor chose to spoke up, fear dripping from his words, "B-b-b-bbb-bb-but please! We surrendered! you have already killed so many! Why must yo-", a Space marine brought his armored knee into the Governors chest, causing him to spit up blood and curl up into a fetal position as the Exquesor General continued his rant, "We must Purify this world! None shall go unpunished, examples will be made and when we leave the mere thought of rebellion will cause a man to take his own life! We wi-", he was cut off as Veteran Sergeant Palcius burst into the room, his armor covered in gore, "Captain, Exquesor General! The Blazing Sisters have arrived unbidden in orbit! They are making planetfall!"

Captain Illius growled and turned to Marcus, "Bring the captives. We must meet with our sisters.", Marcus was clearly perturbed that his speech was interrupted, and ordered the captives to stand. They had been beaten severely, but most managed to stand, even the Governor. Those that could not were quickly executed as the retinue made its way out of the Cappital building to meet with the coming Astartes.

The drop pod crashed into the ground with, followed by others in the immediate area sending bits of asphalt flying into the air as the ground cracked wherever they struck. Captain Penthesilla stepped out of her pod followed by her terminators, they were fully armed, helmets on, ready for battle. Penthesilla headed straight for the main door of the Capital building her heavy terminator boots leaving behind fractures in the ground beneath her. "Captains of the bloody host! Come stand before me! I deliver a message on behalf of my Mother Primarch, and through her the Emperor himself! You will put down your weapons, and come to heel! No more civillians will be killed on Eden Secundus!" She turned to look at her other terminators who had their weapons aimed all over the courtyard of the capital building. All across the rest of the surface Stormbirds were landing releasing payloads of astartes who were standing with their weapons aimed at bloody host marines, in a standoff that waited to be broken. A single stormbird headed to the capital building courtyard, and slowly opened to release the Honor Guard of the Primarch with Captain Antimache at the head.

Captain Illius strode out of the capital building, helmet off displaying his heavily scarred head, his lightning claws still crackling and vaporising the blood on them into steam as he spoke, "What is the meaning of this?! We are here upon the orders of our father, what order has the Emperor given?", the Exquesor general exited behind the Captain, his massive terminator bulk then followed by the leadership captives in chains. He spoke in fury, "Civilians?! These are traitors who shall receive their just punishment as we are honor bound to mete out! You would dare interrupt their purification on the orders of your primarch, and believe we will simply place down our arms? How are we to know you truly speak with the voice of the Emperor?", the Bloody Host marines within the courtyard had their weapons similarly aimed at the sisters, the tension could be cut with a knife. A squad of Ten Exquesor Terminators stood at the bottom of the capitals steps, their combi-bolters leveled at the Blazing Sisters as their General joined them.

Captain Illius nodded to the captain of the Blazing Sisters as he walked down the steps past he Exquesors. "What is your name and company? I wish to know who of the Blazing Sisters I address!", as he spoke one of the captives attempted to run, breaking for the Blazing Sister. As he passed the Exquesors he shouted, "Help please! We have surrend-", he was torn apart as one of the Exquesor opened fire with his combi-bolter, the outpouring of bolter shells ripped him in half as he smashed against the ground, a massive pool of blood around his coughing and writhing form as his organs spilled out, ripped apart and ruined, his eyes begging for mercy as he died. The Bloody Host marines did not look, and did not even flinch.

The Blazing Sisters moved, but stopped as Captain Penthesilla brought up a hand. "HALT! I will not let civil war breaking out over a single man being gunned down by a fool." She stepped towards Captain Illius and spoke loudly through her helmet. "I am Captain Penthesilla of the Fourth Company, and that is Captain Antimache, the Leader of our Mother Primarch's Honor Guard." Captain Antimache only nodded in reply, her bald head showing as she wasn't wearing her helmet, her face heavily scarred from years of combat. The terminators she lead all carried enormous halberds some of them Power weapons, some of them force weapons, as they were made up fifty-fifty of Librarians and regular Astartes.

Penthesilla took a deep breath. "Release these civilians to me. Release all the civilians across the planet. Your slaughter is done. You are to leave the planet immediately. You have brought it to heel, and then some. We are to protect, create, and preserve the Imperium. Not slaughter civilians like cattle." Penthesilla reached back taking a data slate from Captain Antimache, it was a message directly from Primarch Farah herself.

'Astartes of the Bloody Host, the atrocities you are committing on Eden Secundus have been noticed, and will cease immediately. You are to return to your ships and thus your legion. Complying with these commands will ensure that you are not punished for your Zealotry in the name of the Imperium. To not follow the commands will result in the decimation of your company. Heed these words or face the Wrath of the Blazing Sisters as we carry out orders from the Emperor himself.'

Captain Illius read the dataslate carefully, scowling the entire time. He growled, and tossed the slate to the General Exquesor. The terminator held it in his hands, his helm obscuring his expression, before he crushed the slate in his hand and looked up, "We are the Exquesor, we are the Bloody Host! Farah has no authority over us! We will continue in our ways, such soft Astartes as you will not stop our mission.", Captain Illius faced the Blazing Sisters captain, "Your mother Primarch has no authority over me or my men. Unless the order is from the Emperor, our father, or the 1st Grand Captain I will not follow it. General Exquesor, carry out Judgement on the guilty.", he never broke eye contact with Captain Penthesilla as the Exquesor turned to the assembled world Leaders, and opened fire.

Penthesilla held back her anger at the sheer audacity of the Bloody Host marines before her. At the arrogance of Captain Illius. "Then you leave me no choice, but to follow my orders! Sisters! Ever forward! Never back!" Fire opened immediately from the female Astartes, rounds tearing across the courtyard, and all across the surface now as the command was heard over the vox. They would take the upper hand by starting the combat with the Bloody Host, as to not be taken unaware. Captain Penthesilla herself clashed with Captain Illius her chain fist coming around to roar to life, aimed to smash into the Bloody Host Captain's side. Meanwhile Captain Antimache charged forwards with her Honorguard towards the Exquesor, their halberds being brought to bear against the opposing warriors. The rest of Penthesilla's terminators going after whoever was closest to them. They were planning to make this as short as possible by hitting the Bloody Host Astartes with overwhelming force. "You bring this upon yourself for your treachery Captain Illius!" Penthesilla yelled out over the roar of combat.

Captain Illius barely parried Penthesilla's chainfist with his lightning claws, growling as the courtyard exploded in Astarte on Astarte violence, and Captain Illius exclaimed, "You are the traitors here! You kill your brothers for a mere few of the guilty! Prepare to be judged!", with that he took to the air above her with his jump-pack, before plummeting down at her, his claws moving to thrash her.

The Exquesor charged the honour guard, Marcus shouting, "We are Death! The Destroyer of Worlds!", his power axe raised to cut one of the terminators in half, his combi-bolter spitting death, the Exquesor joining in his warcry. The other Astartes clashed in the courtyard, Veteran Sergeant Palcius melted a hole through one of Penthesillas Terminators with his melta gun, the massive armored woman crashing to the grownd as he took cover behind her bulk.

A devastator squad attempted to pull back to bring their weapons to bear, before three terminators riddled them with bolts, their power armor exploding with blood and gore as their sisters murdered them. Veteran brother Carraix attempted to kill the Terminators sergeant with his plasma gun, only to be bisected by her, his organs vaporised to bloody mist by her power sword. Brother fought sister as Astartes spilled Astartes blood. A Bloody Host tactical marine with no legs grabbed hold of a terminators leg, pulling the pin on his krak grenade, killing them both. The brutality spread like a disease... and carnage again covered the world, though this time through a lens of fratricide.

The battle had definitely started in the Blazing Sister's favor, as they had gotten the drop on the Bloody Host Astartes. Putting on the defense purely by the fact that they gave a overwhelming amount of firepower to bear on them before they could react. Penthesilla on the other hand was fighting rigorously with Captain Illius, one of his lightning claws even left a gouge on her helmet causing her to stumble back. "I do not need to be judged. I know I am worthy, you are wanting" She let loose a barrage from her combi-bolter as it the powerful rounds tore apart the air as they sped towards Captain Illius.

Captain Antimache roared as she saw Marcus prepared to cut one of her honorguard in twain, but her Power Halberd moved in a blur stopping the axe in its tracks, while her sister moved out of the way. Antimache found herself dueling with Marcus while everyone around them fought in the courtyard. A sister fell here, or a Host fell there. Astartes were dying by the handfuls. The Blazing Sisters though were slowly overcoming the Bloody Host, as their numbers dwindled in the slow grind between Astartes, the Bloody Host having had around three thousand now only number just around twenty two hundred, and the Blazing Sisters having been above nine thousand had fallen to around eighty eight hundred.

Penthesilla after having fired off her combi-bolter charged forwards bringing her chain fist up in the air and down to try and slam into Captain Illius' head. "Traitorous fool! This is your judgement!" The fury that was on her face could only be partially seen by the gash that had been rent in her helmet.

Captain Illius stared into his sisters eyes as her chainfist connected with his head, he had been stumbled by the detination of his jump-pack by her combi-bolter and had no chance, his eyes seemed to accuse her even as his head was changed to mist. Veteran Sergeant Palcius shouted, "Captain Illius!", and vaulted over the dead Terminators armor, running to his downed captain. As one of Farah's honour guard carved an Exquesor in half, she turned and attempted to bisect the sergeant. He threw himself over her blade, his body twisting to face her as his melta discharged into her helm, vaporizing it, her head, and a large upper part of her armor. He crashed to the ground rolling to stand, before sliding to reach his downed captain, dropping his melta and letting it hang by its strap. He knelt before his captain's ruined corpse, before looking up at his killer, Captain Penthesilla. He shouted into his vox, making sure she heard it, "Bloody Host! Captain Illius is dead! Lay down your arms! Enough blood has been spiled this day.", his helm obscured his expression as he looked into Penthesilla's eyes.

Before the command the General Exquesor dueled with Captain Antimache, shouting hate and venom at her. As the command came through, he paused, and looked at the Veteran sergeant. He growled... but an order was an order, "Exquesor! Drop back!", the remaining few Terminators disegaged from the honour guard, but kept their weapons raised.

Across the planet Bloody Host dropped their arms, and had to hope the Blazing Sisters would cease firing. Veteran Sergeant Palcius continued to stare at Captain Penthesilla, "We submit..."

Penthesilla stared back at Palcius, and took in a deep breath tilting her head back and taking off her helmet holding it on her hip. "I do believe this is a practice your own Primarch uses is it not? One of every ten Bloody Host Astartes will stay here. The rest will return to their ships, and their legion. Those that stay will be stripped of their armor, and weapons. They will be put forth to the population of Eden Secundus for judgement, and sentencing. I will stand as judge over this. Your Grand Company will remember this for all time, as the Decimation at Eden Secundus, by Fourth Company of the Blazing Sisters" She clicked her mouth shut, staring at him and waiting.

For a moment Palcius stared at the Terminator armored Captain. He slowly stood, and placed his hands on his own helmet, the sound of seals being broken as he removed it. The marine beneath was aged in the extreme, his left eye replaced with a red bionic, his hair grey and receded. His face was sallow and wrinkled for a marine, and he may very well have been in the first generation of the Bloody Host. "Captain Penthesilla I-... how... how will these one in ten marines be selected? And there are three Grand Companies on world Captain... we are simply the ones here... and may I ask that our Apothecaries be allowed to retrieve these... chosen marines Gene seed? They simply followed their orders my Lady.", the aged Marine seemed tired and worn, despite his killing of two terminators mere moments ago.

With a deep exhale Penthesilla spoke. "With the drawing of Straws. Simple and effective. I will allow two squads of Marines lead by you to stay behind along with the apothecaries, to retrieve the geneseed. Then you will be escorted offworld. You will not return to this planet. It is under Blazing Sister protection now."

The Veteran Sergeant nodded and replaced his helmet to relay the orders to the other Captains. Before regrouping with his men, he kneeled to the Captains body and placed a hand on his pauldron, something gripped in his other hand, as he muttered something quietly over his Captain's corpse.

With brows furrowed Captain Penthesilla narrowed her eyesight to see what he was holding, she saw the prayer beads in his hand, and angrily she grabbed him up by the back of his armor and tossed him bodily across the courtyard. "You dare defy the Imperial truth! Who do you pray to Cretin!? Do all of you follow this line of thought, and worship fairytales! Draw your straws, and take all your men to your ships. Leave the bodies of your dead behind! Your geneseed is forfeit!"

Palcius slowly stood to his feet, and then dropped to his knees, "I pray to no Gods, for they exist not. I simply provided an ancient rite of death from Seraphim Captain. I am... an old Marine you see. It is a rite I cannot abandon. I am the only one to carry such tradition Captain Penthesilla, but he had a warriors death... if... if you must dole out punishment for my faults do so to me... not my company...", he looked to her pleadingly, "They do not deserve to be left here... not after...", he said nothing more.

The silence in the Courtyard was palpable, everyone seemed to be hinging on what Farah would say. Finally she spoke though in soft tones, while she began to walk towards the large doors of the capital building. "Take your men, draw your straws... Gather your geneseed, the go back to your ships. I expect to see around two hundred astartes standing in this courtyard by night fall."

Palcius stood slowly, "... Thank you my Lady... it will be done.", he sent the confirmation to the other two captains, grouped together his own company, and selected the marines. By the time nightfall came the Marines were assembled, their armor and Gene seed with their brothers on the ships above the atmosphere. Palcius sighed as he watched the planet shrink in the distance.

That night found those Astartes of the Bloody Host standing before the citizens of Eden Secundus, to be judged, and judge they did finding them all guilty of murder for what they had done on the planet. Each of the Bloody Host Astartes was restrained, and forced to kneel. Each citizen was given a blade. Penthesilla would not carry out the executions nor would Astartes. They stood in lines, stabbing the Marines in the bare torsos till they were all dead. This night would be forever remembered as. 'The Decimation At Eden Secundus.'

[Yennefer]

Location: Planet Obscura, within the Valian System of the Greater Valia Sector, Segmentum Pacificus
Date: 931.M30
Parties Involved: Legions involved: The Blazing Sisters, The Wild Blades.
Primarchs involved: Farah Cusatis, Erron Khaal

The permanant twilight of the once hostile Deathworld now glowed with the presence of thousands upon thousands of fires. The great bonfires served a dual purpose: to push back the encroaching darkness of the world, as well as send the many fallen Astartes to their final rest among the heavy plumes of smoke and ash.

Among the funeral pyres huge wooden and thatch longhouses had been hastily contructed in a rough circle, each large enough to hold hundreds of Marines. Within these great buildings, as well as all around them, a cacaophony of sound rose up into the starlit skys. Above the planet the great fleets of two Legions rested, anchored within the gravity well while the Legions themselves celebrated on the surface below.

All of this was rather new to Farah, and her daughters, celebrations like these were not their style. Though they shared in common with the Wild Blades the act of burning their dead. Many of the female Astartes stood vigil over the pyres of their sisters completely armored with weapons held at rest. Farah herself had just finishing removing her armor and dressing in a white wrap of cloth, a golden pendant with a Imperial Aquilla afixing it at the shoulder. The cloth laid over one half of her chest extending down to her knees, and held to her waist by a single brown rope. She looked to the Slayers of Herakles that surrounded her, the mighty Honorguard that always stood vigilant wherever she went. They were completely dressed in their armor halberds ready to kill at a moment's notice. "Daughters... Go. I am in no danger here. Secure the perimeters with your sisters who stand vigil." Farah moved away from them as they obeyed the order without hesitation. Stepping into the Longhall Farah took a deep breath, the scents of sweat, and alcohol filled her nostrils, the loud sounds of music and laughter filled her ears. She moved to find her brother Primarch, with smooth steps from feet wrapped in shining gold sandals.

Erron sat on a bench at one of the large long tables that dominated the center of the Longhouse, all of the tables piled high with food brought from the fleets and foraged from the barren countryside. Huge barrels of ale and wine flowed, as tankards were filled and clanked together with toasts for the living, and for the dead. He, like many of his Astartes around him, was dressed in a simple roughly spun linen vest and baggy trousers, his two blades fastened at the waist by a broad leather and brass studded belt. The dark tattoos all along his arms shined with a dull gleam from the hundreds of torches, and he laughed uproarously and pounded the table as one of his Thanes cracked a joke, draining the last of his ale from his mug. His black hair was braided down his back in feathers and a leather cord, and as he finished his drink he rose and excused himself for another, turning and almost bumping into the tall elegant form of his sister as she made her way into the feast hall.

"Farah! At last I was wondering if you would spend the whole celebration outside with the dead, come now lets get you something to drink. Tonight we honor the glory of the living and the valor of those who fell in our conquest of this world!" He says with a cheerful smile, giving his sister a one armed hug and pulling her close, before he kept his arm around her shoulder and ushered them both closer to the barrels of ale.

A Wild Blades Astartes clad in furs and leather stood by, making small talk with his brothers as the Primarchs approached. With a smile Erron addressed him. "Brother Jaquile, my sister requires your finest refreshments if you would be so kind." The Marine bowed low to the two gods of war, and filled a frothy mug and handed it carefully to Farah with two hands, before taking his Primarchs and filling it as well.

With a smile Farah took the mug and sipped at it carefully, drinking in slow moderation as she always did. The female Primarch had enjoyed the taste of alcohol, but did not like the effects of drinking too much at once. She turned and looked at all her daughters laughing, and sharing stories with the Wild Blades Astartes. With raised brows she looked to Erron and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do try not to get too drunk. We would not want to have to find you sleeping in a mud wallow." She grinned a bit and started to move towards the long table they had just come from, having seen a rather large potato that looks decidely appetizing to her. "So where will you go next dear brother? I have not made any plans myself, and have no received any orders from our Father." Her large hand reached out grabbing the potato taking a small bite of the juicy meat that it consisted of.

Erron looks mockingly aghast at her comment about his sobriety. "Too drunk? My dear sister we Wild Blades do not even know the word. I don't think Varnisian even has a phrase for something like that," he says with a big smile, following her to the tables as he looks around and is very pleased to see that his Legion and Farah's are getting along famously. They have started parceling off in smaller groups, trading stories, bragging (moreso on the part of his children than hers he takes note) and generally just enjoying the company of fellow Space Marines. Seeing the two Legions bonding in something other than warfare gives him pride and hope for the future of the Imperium, as when this Crusade is finished perhaps the Legions will find uses for their talents other than the constant bloodshed.

He turns back to address Farah, shrugging at her question. "Nor I, Father has been a bit cryptic of late. Though I have heard rumblings of something very big being planned. A very large assualt that would most likely mean the collection of both our Legions, as well as that of our siblings. I don't know much in the details yet, but my Seers tell me their dreams have been filled with blood and fire more often than not."

A simple shake of the head was all Farah had in response to Erron's boasting of being able to drink so much. She finished off the potato licking her fingers clean of the juices that had coated her hand. "Well..." She stopped mid sentence and turned to look as there was a bit of arguing taking place between one of her daughters, and her brother's sons. She raised a single brow as one Wild Blade boasted to be a better warrior than the Sister, this quickly brought retribution in the form of a slug to the jaw that sent him sprawling. This was soon followed by laughter, and the two sharing a drink. Farah just shook her head and turned back to Erron patting the seat next to her. "I have not heard of such... Plans. Perhaps you have heard more than I." taking another sip she looks to the fire raging in the hearth, and stares for a long moment. "I do not take much precedence in Psykers unfortunately as it seems my Geneseed produces very few. Of my entire legion I have around forty Librarians in total." Farah was drinking, and when she drank it was easy for her to go off on a number tangent.

"Well if thats the case then your geneseed bears more than mine....There are only ten Seers among the Wild Blades, one for each Company. They serve more as moral guides and teachers than actual powerful psychic combatants, but their dreams often have a very unfortunate habit of coming true." He says as he takes the offered seat. The sudden ruckus nearby makes him turn his broad shoulders curiously, and then he bursts out into a fit of booming laughter as one of his Legionarries is floored by a blow from a Blazing Sister, the Wild Blades around them hooting and pointing at the downed Astartes, almost keeling over with laughter. The Wild Blade leaps to his feet, and Erron almost makes to rise to stop a confrontation from growing before he sees the man tilt his head back and laugh, clapping the warrior woman on the shoulder and linking his elbow in hers, draining their mugs of ale together. Erron smiles and relaxes back into his seat.

As he gets more comfortable, suddenly a steady booming of bass drums sound, as well as a high pitched teetering of several wooden flutes as Erron recognizes an old and very common Varnisian drinking song starting to play. One of his Thanes, Lovar Kine leaps onto a table, his deep baritone voice accompanying the music as all around the Wild Blades start to clap and stomp their feet to the music. Some, the more daring, grab their cousin Astartes and begin to dance, twirling them around and laughing as the upbeat music echoes in the Longhouse.

As the celebrations began to get more excited , and the music started, Farah felt her foot tapping gently on the floor. She watched her daughters dance with their cousins enjoying this moment of respite from the constant drudgery of war. Farah set her mug down on the table, holding out her arm towards Erron, who immediately took her up on the offer of a dance. Tables were slid away and towards the walls to make room for everyone who was enjoying the revelry. Laughing with a rather large grin on her face Farah spun away from her brother for a moment dancing with one of his sons before finding herself back to moving in rythm(SP?) with him once more. "When the Imperium is whole, and the Galaxy at peace. What do you want to do brother? I am hoping to return to my planet and have the Mechancus terraform it, turning it into a lush paradise. We will hunt, and sing, and spend our the rest of our lives in joy, and sisterhood. Possibly let them put a treasure vault underground" She said, a smirk twiting at the corner of her smile.

Erron gave a big smile as he danced among his Legion and hers, the sounds of stomping feet and piping flutes filling the air. Her words at a mention of peace made his brow furrow however. "Peace...Honestly Farah I havn't thought about peace in a serious way in a long time. My hope is that there will be peace....but do you think that we could actually accomplish what our Father has laid out before us?" He asks, his voice a bit quieter so the other Astartes do not overhear, the conversation meant for just his sisters ears.

"We are made for war....that much is certain. And we excel in it. I am afraid of a future where weapons like us may no longer be needed, and like a rusty sword we are set aside to whither away with the ages." He speaks again, slowly, the words making his heart sink a bit and gaze around at the glee filled faces of their warriors, imagining a time when the enemies of Mankind no longer requiered elite forces of Space Marines to conquer. "What would that mean for us then sister?"

For a long moment Farah didn't speak, she still smiled though thinking of a time after war, when she no longer had to fear her daughters being killed, when she no longer had to wonder what civilization they were going to slaughter next. "I believe in the Imperium, I believe in our father. I do believe we can accomplish what he has set before us and more. Look at what we have done is such a short time. The peace we have brought to so much of the Galaxy. Is it so hard to imagine?"

A long moment went by where she said nothing else once more and finally stopped dancing to step back and take a drink from one of her daughter's hands and begin to sip at it. "The ones who came before us were tools for war. We are more than that brother. We are Astartes, we are capable of so much, yet we do not know it yet. I see the way your sons dance, and enjoy the music that is played. I heard my daughters sing, and I know there is more to us than just war. Yes we are warriors, but we are not tools."

"I know that Farah, and you know that, but does the rest of the Imperium know that?" Erron says, coming to stand beside her and just watch the festivities taking place, speaking privately with her. "Mortal men are not the same as us, they respect and fear us. Some with their feelings more on one side of that beam than the other. You've seen the way the Lord Generals and their officers act around you. They treat us like gods and royalty. And they see us as a necessary piece of this Crusade, for how many Imperial soldiers would die if not for our Legions? But in a world where the monsters in the dark are laid bare to the Emperors light.....will they begin to fear the monsters they created more than the ones at their door? Will they force us into exile, chains, or even death to avoid being conquered by the very weapons they built. Look back on our history, to the Iron Men. Mankind created machines to do their work and fighting, and they brought only war and death in the end. I am afraid that we may share that fate if there are no more enemies left for the Astartes to fight."

Taking a deep sip of her drink, that slowly turned into a gulp Farah stared at the far wall. "It does not matter what they think. It matters what our Father thinks. They will follow him, and his glory wherever he goes, whatever he commands, for he is the Emperor. Think not so little of humans, for while many may view us as gods, as we get to know them they will share and understanding that we not so different I think." She turned to look at Erron, and put her hands on both his shoulders. "I have a friend, my most dearest friend. Would you like to know who she is? She is a remembrancer that I have taken to have personally assigned to me." She turns her head and points to a corner of the longhouse where a human woman sat writing on paper while watching the festivities. "That is Lykinnia. She writes, about who we truly are brother, not what we are perceived to be. They will know we more than just machinations like the iron men, or blood thirsty beings like those that came before us. They will know our joy, our sadness, and our worth to this Galaxy."

Erron glances back at his sisters gesture, seeing the young woman busily writing, her fingers moving over paper as she tries to capture everything about the scene before her. His furrowed brow uncreases and he smiles, reassured by Farahs words. "Alas....perhaps I have drank too much after all," he says with a smile, returning his gaze to Farah and placing his hand on hers on his shoulder. "Forgive me sister, I did not mean to darken the mood with grim thoughts of a future that will never be. You are right. We may be warriors, but all warriors have a home among the peaceful." He grabs a passing tankard, raising it in a toast to Farah, "To peace, and the Emperors glory" he shouts.

Farah raises her mug, "To the Emperors glory!" she replies, the toast taken up by several Astartes close to them, then rippling down the hall in a steady roar as all of the collected warriors join in, drinking deep from their mugs and cheering. Erron drinks deep, swallowing the rest of the ale, smacking his lips with a loud sound as he sets down the empty mug.

Farah grinned, and raised her mug high. "Sisters how about we sing a so-" but she didnt get to finish her sentence as the sound of bolter fire began to go off sporadically outside of the longhouse. She stared at the wall, everything was quiet again, no gun fire, no one shoutting. Till finally someone could be heard yelling 'What was that!?' it was the voice of one of the Astartes that had been standing guard. Farah's brows furrowed as she stepped down between a set of tables to stare at the door. Then shouting began and the sound of more Bolter fire began to grow louder, something was happening outside. "Daughters! Arm yourselves however you can!" She turned to look at Erron a look of confusion on her face. "What is happening?"

The loud roar of Bolter fire made Errons hands instantly go to the hilts of his weapons, his gaze turning steely. "We are under attack!" He shouted, his Legion dropping their mugs and drawing their blades, the steel hissing against scabbards as they began to push toward the Longhouse door. Erron drew his sword and knife, holding the latter in a reverse grip along his forearm. "Farah, I believe we may have celebrated our victory a bit too soon," he says with a grim smile, "Do you have any of your weapons available?"

The Wild Blades pushed out into the firelit darkness, their vision blurred from the sudden change in light but adapting quickly. Around them, the muzzle flashes of weapons flared up around the steady glow of the bonfires, and the few armored Blazing Sister and Wild Blades who were not joining in the festivities in full firing into the sky as dark winged shapes glided and hovered above the makeshift camp.

Loud, ear piercing screetches puncuated the dark sky, and the massive shapes dove, insect like legs striking downward and piercing the flesh of the warriors on the ground, their screams mingling with the blood curdling calls of the monsters.

Nearby was a mallet that had been used earlier in the day for hammering in stakes in the ground, Farah grabbed it up, and looked to Erron her brows raising. "I have this." She turned towards her daughters and raised the wooden tool. "Daughters! Grab weapons! Knives! Whatever you find! We go to battle!" She charged towards the door followed by the rest of her Astartes. Outside her armored daughters fired into the sky, tearing the creatures down and causing them to break as they hit the ground. More came across the ground though scuttling on long insect like legs. Farah lead the charge into them her mallet smashing through their chitinous armor as her powerful Primarch muscles made the hammer smash through the xenos exoskeleton.

Erron dashed out behind his sister, weapons flickering to life, coils of energy running down the blades as he give a beastial roar, leaping up in the air and landing on top of one of the scuttling, bat winged aliens. He dug his two blades into the back of the creature, twisting them, pulling and pushing as he tried to sever the spinal cord. The thick bones gave way with a snap, the ugly xenos crying out with a strangled screetch as its body fell lifeless beneath the Primarch. Erron stands, surveying the area around him. It would seem that their previous victory had been a feint, and the creatures had tricked him and Farah into relaxing their guard, waiting until the perfect moment to mount their counter attack. All around him he saw warriors snatching up weapons, some coming out with halfway donned armor, missing pauldrons or chest plates and greaves. The Sisters, save those standing vigil, were at more of a disadvantage it seemed, for at least his Legion always carried some type of bladed weapon on their person.

Farah took a step back from the battle, and just watched for a moment as more and more o fhte creatures were mowed out of the sky, and subsequently stabbed or beaten to death on the ground. "It's a last stand. They're desperate..." She turns to look at Erron. "This is all they have left! Look at them! How frantic they are!" Luckily some of the sisters had managed to get off a vox message, and the sky suddenly filled with firepower as Fire Raptors zoomed above the battlefield their weapons tearing apart the xenox creatures that inhabited the planet.

Erron stood by Farahs side, nodding. The creatures were diving and clawing at their warriors, unhindered by the losses they were taking. This WAS their last stand. They were throwing everything they had at the outpost, one last attempt to sever the head of the monster that came to claim their home. Erron almost pitied them, almost.

"Keep up the fire Wild Blades! Tear them from the skies!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, smirking back at Farah with a wicked smile, the joy of battle over taking him, and gave another loud roar as he plunged forward, dashing towards the xenos. His sword flashed, gutting a creature across the midsection, slicing off a few of its thrashing limbs, and his knife drove upward, plunging under its jaw and into its skull, silenceing it. He twisted and pulling his knife out, kicking the dead monster aside, looking for fresh prey. He saw a squad of mixed Wild Blades and Blazing Sisters backed up against the side of one of the Longhouses, and charged forward to relieve them from the mass of aliens that slashed towards them.

The battle continued to rage even as Erron ran off ot help some of the Astartes who were pinned. Still though the battle was easily turning in their favor. Farah looked at one of the dead creatures near her and reached over grabbing two of the bladed limbs at the base near the body, with her muscles bulging she ripped the creature's legs off holding them up in the air and charged towards the next one to come at her. The bladed limbs slicing easily through the chitinous armor it had sending yellow stringy goop across the ground. The creatures were falling from the sky at a more rapid pace now as the Fire Raptors tore them to ribbons. The ones on the ground now flailing as they were brought under the merciless wrath of the Astarteson the ground.

Erron carved into the backs of the xenos, slicing wings from their bodies, the Astartes against the wall pushing forward to hammer and slice the remaining as the Primarch turns their attention. Suddenly, out of the sky a massive gust of wind pushes the warriors, the force making some bend or fall to a knee. A black form thunders into the camp, the ground shuddering under its weight, even uglier and larger than the others. Fangs dripping with saliva, its black eyes angry and also fearful. Erron knew this was the leader, their Queen. He wrentched his blades from one of the fallen aliens, turning to face the new arrival.

Walking slowly, pointing his forked tip sword at the Queen, he had a feral grin on his face, lips peeled back in a snarl. "This ends now foul beast....I'll have your skull mounted on my wall," he barked, the alien giving an ear piercing scream in reply, nearly popping his eardrums. With a roar Erron charged, the beast leaping forward, talons grasping and slicing the air seeking his flesh. One of the legs cut into his shoulder, blood welling up in the wound as his roar continued, and he jumped into the air. The massive creatures jaws opened, seeking to snap his body in half. Turning his sword and knife, he drives forward, both glittering tips plunging into its dark eyes and deep into the corrupted brain.

With the death of the creature, the rest of the giant xenos fell to the ground their bodies kicking, spinning, not dead but seemingly unable to act without guidance. "End them." Farah spoke aloud watching as the rest of the Astartes fall upon the squirming now mindless creatures. "Erron.. Some kind of celebrations you throw!" She sighed and looke down at her torn up toga her eyes closing. "And now i need some new clothes." She said with a growl.

Erron picked up a discarded fur cloak, throwing it over his sisters shoulders after he had cleaned and sheathed his blades. "A fine party wasn't it? We were just about to run out of fun....thank the Emperor these xenos showed up to liven things up yes?" He said chuckling, the battle rage leaving him as he returned to his natural joking attitude.

[Hank]

_{Below is the entirety of the flashback I wrote with @Savage, describing the second meeting of Erron Khaal and Gorseval.}

Location: Aboard the Eclipse, at the edge of the Forridien System.
Date: 980.M30
Parties Involved: The Great Chief and the Dark Star.

The bridge of the Eclipse, as befitted any Apocalypse-class battleship, was an enormous and ostentatious affair. The captain's chair, elevated on a raised platform, much like the iron throne in Gorseval's old throne room, dominated the space. It was surrounded by rows upon rows of cogitator banks, crewed by dozens of helmsmen, ensigns and servitors. Large, void-shielded windows, almost forty feet high, allowed anyone on the bridge to pensively stare into space. This was exactly what Gorseval, Primarch of the Void Stalkers, was currently doing. They had been waiting at the edge of the Forridien system for the arrival of the Wild Blades and its primarch Erron Khaal, known as the Great Chief. It had been a little over five years since Gorseval had last seen Erron -- a meeting that had not exactly gone smoothly. It was when the Emperor, accompanied by Erron and Mon-Kal of the Bloody Host, had finally retrieved Gorseval, the last of his lost children. There had been a short, but brutal war between the Imperial forces and Gorseval's armies, and Gorseval wasn't sure if the Great Chief would have forgiven him by now. 

By now, the Wild Blades' fleet had arrived, and Gorseval had extended an invitation to Erron to join him on the bridge of the Eclipse. One of the many screens on the cogitator bank of the captain's great chair started blinking, and Gorseval glanced at it -- Erron had arrived. With a wave of his hand, Gorseval ordered the chair to descend to the floor, and the Dark Star got to his feet. By now, he was dressed in the finest power armor the Imperial forces could forge; colored a deep shade of purple and coated in pearlescent paint, the armor bespoke of a regal elegance. Gorseval's force sword, Darkness, was sheathed at his waist and an iron halo was attached to the armor's torso. Gorseval straightened his black cape and looked up as the great, adamantium blast-doors opened and Erron Khaal stepped onto the bridge. 

When the invitation had reached Erron upon his flagship, he had to admit that there was a bit of surprise that accompanied it. His brother Gorseval, while now fully and completely loyal to their Fathers charge, was still not the most outgoing of his siblings. Thus, when he recieved the request, he took it on a sign of very good faith that his brother Gorseval meant to try and reach out after what had happened five years ago.

Of those days, Erron never speaks. He has made it a standing order among his Seers to never retell the stories of brothers fallen within the rocks of Reach. While unpopular, he sees it as a necessary transgression against the culture of his people. If Erron could ever hope to try and bridge the rift between Wild Blades and Void Stalkers, some legends were better left forgotten.

He entered the ship with only his four Apexa Predatoris, even though it was a compromise to even bring them. His Thanes, especially Ballor of the 1st, had wanted a fully armed and armored honor guard to accompany their Primarch. As much a show of strength as protection. Erron staunchly refused, wanting to go alone, but accepted to take along his body guards to appease his Thanes. All five were dressed in resplendent Artificer armor, deep emerald in color and riddled with gold designs and details. They all went helmet-less, again a demand from Erron. He wanted nothing about this meeting to appear martial or abbrasive. This was a meeting of brothers, not a time to reopen old war wounds. As such, he left his own sword behind, carrying only the smaller of the two Sisters, each of his guards replacing their typical two-handed blades for smaller knives as well. As much as he could see it bristling the most elite of his sons to be without their weapons, he spoke reassuring words as the giant doors to the Eclipse's bridge opened. He saw his brother, regal in deep violet armor, and stepped forward with his arms outstretched wide, a smile on his bronzed face, green eyes bright. 

"Brother, good to see you again!" he said, trying to break any possible awkwardness outright by being as open and accepting as possible.

Gorseval had assumed that Erron would have brought a larger retinue with him, and was pleasantly surprised that the Great Chief apparently placed enough faith in him now to only bring four bodyguards. An even bigger surprise, and great relief, was Erron's magnanimous smile and open arms. Gorseval hesitated for a few seconds, eyebrows raised, unable to fully conceal his emotions, before stepping forward with great strides and clasping his brother by the arm. "Erron," he said, and returned the Great Chief's smile with a faint curling of his lips -- something any one of the Black Guard could have attested was a very rare sight. "Thank you for coming." 

Much like their during their first meeting, Gorseval had dismissed all of his bodyguards and close advisors, and the bridge was only filled with the low-ranking crewmembers essential to keeping the Eclipse running. They all stared with wide eyes -- it was not every day that they got to witness the meeting of two Primarchs, even though they were accustomed to Gorseval's presence by now. 

"I have to admit I was not sure what to expect," Gorseval continued in a soft voice. The melancholic look had returned to his face by now, and he met his brother's emerald gaze with a slight hint of shame. "I have learned a lot, these past five years. Our Father's cause is righteous and I was blinded to it by my own ambition." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Either way, it is good that you are here. How was your journey?" 

Erron continued to smile, and at the sight of an empty bridge, and no apparent hostilities, even his guards relaxed. Erron turned to them and waved them off, "Go off and find your cousins, I have business to attend to here," he said dismissively. "Chief?" One of them said and Erron gave the man a hard look, and he merely nodded and turned, taking the other three with him. No doubt they would simply stay close by, but at least they would not be hovering over his shoulder like an overly protective hen. He turned back to his brother, again smiling broadly and clasping his other hand on the mans shoulder, still grasping his wrist. 

"Well space travel pales in comparison to feeling the wind in your hair and the sun on your face, but I cannot complain too much," he said chuckling. "As for the past," Erron shook his head from side to side, "think none of it my friend. Time heals all things, and though we are perfectly made in our Fathers image of man, does that not make us all inherently as imperfect as all mankind is?" His smile grew again, and he slapped Gorsevals shoulder, the ceramite plates clacking loudly. "Come now, you must have something aboard this giant boat to drink!"

The Dark Star's pride flared slightly at being called imperfect, and the grave expression on his face flickered briefly. He shoved the feeling aside and couldn't help but smile again and shake his head at Erron's apparent thirst. "Honestly, I wouldn't know. I assume so." Gorseval turned to one of the armsmen standing guard by the bridge's doors and spoke: "Fetch Asmodal for me. Tell him to bring something to drink. The... strong stuff? I take it he will know what I mean." Gorseval turned back to Erron and continued: "I have to say I don't partake myself, but I know some of my Legionnaires do. Asmodal has been with me from the start. The men of the Reach are not as strict as my own geneseed commands, it seems." 

Letting go of Erron's arm, Gorseval motioned for them to walk to the window, maneuvering between the cogitators and holo-screens that told of the ship's status. Gorseval glanced at them briefly in passing, and saw to his satisfaction that all was well. In front of them lay the sprawling Forridien system, its star only a wan point of light, its planets merely pinpricks. "I understand the Bloody Host is to join us," Gorseval said with a certain hardness to his voice. If he had been worried Erron might not have forgiven him, he was almost positive that Mon-Kal would not have. 

Erron sighed, walking alongside his brother and looking up at the huge, vaulted ceiling of the bridge. "As our fathers commands, so shall it be," he said, then started chuckling. "This will be a grand reunion to be sure, for our brother has been known to have a bit of a nasty temper," Erron continued. He heard the change in his brothers voice, decades of diplomatic meetings teaching him to pick up on certain cues in body language. "Don't worry about Mon-Kal Gorseval, he may still harbor some rage from the old days but his anger is unlike that of our sister Lydia. He is quick to anger, and it burns fast and hot but extinguishes itself quickly. Plus," he said shrugging, "He won't want to fight you since he will be up to his chin in Greenskin filth."

The armsman then returned, bearing a tray laden with a bottle of dark, almost black, liquid and two iron cups. Looking at the beverage Erron smiled and looked at his brother with a side ways glance, "Brother, do you really have to make everything black?" he said with a teasing laugh as he poured himself and his brother a cup and held out the iron mug. 

He raised his own, "To victory, and brotherhood," he said.

His face unreadable, Gorseval looked at the offered cup, then back up at Erron. "This," he said pointedly while lifting his arm, "is purple. And I am not responsible for this," he added before gingerly taking the mug. "To victory and brotherhood," Gorseval echoed, touched his cup to Erron's, and took a sip. He stared out into space and swilled the black liquor in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. Still pensive, he tilted his head and looked at the cup again. "Not as bad as I was expecting. It seems Asmodal knows what he's doing. But I have been told you are the expert; what do you make of it?" he asked Erron. 

Erron, unlike his brother, downed the entire mug and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Gah! Tastes like Tauroch piss and burns worse than plasma fire," he said, laughing, "which means its better than most of the filth any of the Imperial Army brews." He said with a wink, pouring himself another mug and drinking it more slowly. "One day you'll have to visit Varnis, and I'll have you up on the tables of the longhouse singing and fighting in no time like the warriors of legend," Erron said as he clapped Gorseval on the back again. 

"So now," he began, "not to jump right into business, but I assume you did ask me here for more than just a social call brother? Although if thats the case, I recommend we get more of this," he nodded to the bottle with a smile. 

"I highly doubt that," Gorseval said with the slightest hint of amusement to his voice, "but I shall come to Varnis all the same. That said, you are right, I did not just invite you to exchange pleasantries. Scans of the planets ahead of us indicate that we are facing a very significant host of Greenskins. I have not fought them before, but my advisors tell me they are ferocious and straightforward warriors. What do you know of them?" Gorseval asked with a sidelong glance at his brother, resting his hand on the pommel of his force sword. 

"I've faced their kind before, on Roma when I helped our brother Maximus," Erron said. "They were big, dumb, and aggressive, but almost completely unorganized and lacked any kind of command structure that I could see. We butchered them fairly easily, once we softened their overwhelming numbers with a barrage from space that opened up enough holes for my Legion to insert and divide up the green tide into more manageable pieces." He took another drink, looking at the various panels and blinking lights of the ships controls. 

"Our father however," he continued, "Seems to think this is more than just a pack of ravenous animals if he is to send three Legions in order to combat it." 

"Or perhaps he believes an easy campaign and flawless victory will soothe old tensions," Gorseval offered as a contrarian opinion. "One never knows with Father. Honestly, though, I think you are right. Based on preliminary reports it seems like the Greenskins are using the system's asteroids for something. To me, this indicates a higher level of organization and cooperation than what you describe. Tell me, Erron," Gorseval continued, and took another cautious sip of the black liquor, "how does your Legion fight?" 

His dark eyebrows furrowed at the mention of asteroids, thinking about the possible applications of the Greenskins for harvesting them. Whatever it was, the simple fact that they managed to reach past the upper atmosphere meant that they had higher levels of sophistication than the Orks he had seen already. 

"Well, typically we stay mobile. Outrider bikes and Stormbirds being prefered, moving quickly as soon as planetfall has been achieved to surround and strike at the enemy in order to end the battle as efficently as possible," he said. "Heavy vehicles take too long to prepare, and are too prone to getting bogged down. Aerial insertions are much more reliable." He finished. 

"Agreed," Gorseval said. "But you fight as a single unit, then? I don't like that style, personally. What if the enemy is well-prepared and lures you into a trap?" He rapped the pommel of his sword with his fingers and put his cup back on the armsman's tray. "When on the ground, the Void Stalkers split up into companies and tactical squads and harass and demoralize the enemy until their spirit is ready to break. That way, one avoids a gratuitous bloodbath... though, as I recall, you did not exactly commend me for that style," he finished, and leaned his head back, tracing the metalwork on the bridge's ceiling with his gaze. 

"Well, while I cannot agree that fighting from the shadows is a way that my Legion would attack an enemy, I also cannot deny the success your campaigns have had," he said, completely ignoring the fact that such tactics had been used against himself not five years ago. "And while we fight always at the side of our brothers, it is not entirely as one unit as you say. Each of my Companies is able to support themselves, save for maybe my 2nd, who specialize almost exclusively in aerial assualts from Stormbirds and Jumppacks. They are perhaps the most inflexible of my children, though the fault is probably mine," he said with a smile. "You see, it was I who gave them their totem, and encouraged them to find strength and courage from it. It only seems fair that they took that to mean emulate entirely."

"That's funny, isn't it," Gorseval said. "How our sons seem to be so... how do I put this into words?" He rubbed his chin with his right hand and contemplated what he wanted to say for a few seconds. "You show them a bird and they take to the skies. I show them the darkness and they shy away from the sun. I hesitate to use such terms, but I would almost call it single-mindedness. Do you think Father made them that way deliberately?" Gorseval asked quietly, curious how his brother would react. 

"I think your answer deserves another question," Erron said, his voice now more serious, "Do you think our Father made us the same way?" He raised his eyebrows, and regarded the star-strewn voidscape within the great windows of the bridge. "Think about it, twenty children of a nearly godlike being, though he would chastise me for referring to him as such. And of us all, how many can you think of that actually meet the mark?" He held his arms out wide, "Erron Khaal, the Great Chief and Primarch of the Wild Blades, most powerful warrior of Varnis, and yet I follow his orders without a single doubt of their authenticity and rightousness. Is that not the same way that our Legions follow us brother?"

Gorseval's brows furrowed at Erron's words. "Truly?" he asked, and turned his head to look him in the eyes. "Without a single doubt?" The depthless black pools of Gorseval's eyes were inscrutable, but the expression on his face would speak volumes to someone as experienced as Erron. 

Erron looked at his brothers face, seeing the disbelief there, and perhaps the internal struggle of a man who now was facing his own doubts. He smiled, a warm, reassuring gesture. "No....not one. I have grown up around warriors all my life. Never before have I met one that follows a course as pure as I believe our Fathers is. I know that there is no such thing as pure goodness in this world, but a truely just victory is its own reward in the end." 

"That's what I thought as well," Gorseval said darkly. "Before you and Father and Mon-Kal came. I thought I was leading the people of the Reach to a higher purpose. That under my absolute authority, they would build something larger than life, larger than themselves. I fought the Eldar and believed my cause was just, and that my inevitable victory over those xenos would empower my people. When that victory was snatched away, I was not grateful. I saw the three of you as thieves and unwanted outsiders, so I turned on you. Now, of course..." Gorseval paused to take a deep breath and laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, "now we know that I was wrong. But I could not see that when I was in the thick of it. How can we be sure that our Father's cause is just, and he is not as blind as I was?"

Erron merely shrugged, "Tell me, what have you seen since you have joined us? How many members of mankind lost and reclaimed? How many worlds made safer by the blood we shed as the sword of the Emperor?"

Gorseval was silent for a while and stared out into space. "Many," he admitted. "You're right. I should not worry about these things so much." Gingerly, he risked extending his mind and glancing at Erron's surface thoughts. As far as Gorseval could tell, the Great Chief believed what he said. Gorseval managed to conjure another faint smile and cleared his throat. "Now then. I think the Bloody Host will be here soon. Let's talk about how we're going to kill these Orks." 

[Yennefer]

Event: The Pacification of Kario, The Finding of the Tome

Location: Kario, Maverick System

Date: 898.M30

Parties involved: Farah, The Blazing Sisters, Sergeant Decimus of The Paladins Eternal

Storms filled the sky, lightning tearing through the clouds, flames flickered upon the horizon as the remnants of those who called themselves The Ever Remade burned. It had been a hard fought war, against world that had more Psykers than the Blazing Sisters had ever faced. The entire world had rebelled against the idea of the Imperial Truth, against the idea that a single man could rule the Galaxy. They had looked to their false Gods to save them, but as the Blazing Sisters had known, there was no supernatural force that came down from the heavens to release their wrath upon the Imperium as they marched across the planet destroying every stone, killing every person that would not submit themselves to the Imperial Truth.

Captain Thalestris stood amid the ruins of what had once been a small town, great battle had taken place here, the Blazing Sisters, and the Imperial Army had fought against the ruthless warriors of Kario, the ground marred wherever she stepped by the terrible powers the momentous amount of Psykers the Remade had. The Sisters had not lost many, but the Imperial army had paid for every step in blood, as what had started out as a peaceful occupation turned into a brutal, terrible revolt. Heavy treads of Astartes boots crushed broken stone, and bone into the ground as they lumbered their way through remains of the once thriving town. Thalestris lifted her head to stare at a large temple that stood at the edge of the town, one of the few left on the planet that had not been torn down, but intel had reached them that remnants of the Remade were still held up in the place holding those that would submit to the Imperial Truth inside as hostages.

“ Mavia, Essesa, Lellen, Dawess, attend.” Four blazing sisters hurried from their positions to stand before Captain Thalestris their armor muddied, and scorched from combat to receive their orders. Thalestris looked to the temple, it had been beautiful once, the walls made of marble had once shone were now dirty, where huge stained glass windows once stood were only shatter remains. “I want you in that temple immediately, Sergeant Decimus I would like you to accompany them, put that terminator armor to good use.” Thalestris turned away from the four as they began to march down the main road to the temple. She knew the male Astartes would be safe with the three she sent to clear out the temple. “Alright sisters, look for any survivors in the rubble! Show them that we are more than butchers!”

---

Mavia lead the team of sisters into the temple, her arm reaching out to slowly push the door open with her bolt pistol. Inside was just as damaged as the outside. The team moved in with Decimus slowly taking up the rear, and watching everyone’s backs. Inside was destruction, what had previously been a twisted altar depicting a large robed figure with a beak sticking out of it’s hood holding a staff. The squad moved fully into the temple, Dawess' scanning the balcony with her bolter as she began to take point for the Astartes. Something tumbled, rolling from the upper balcony, and landing among broken masonry on the floor below, every single one of the Astartes stopped in their tracks their ranged weapons raised and aimed at the right hand balcony.

Decimus thumbs the activation runes on his sword and shield sending energy coursing through them, casting a faint blue glow. He turns inspecting behind them wary of an ambush, as he scans the first level a flash of red scorches the breast plate of his armor just short of the neck joint. He blinks in suprise and looks up to see the soft glow of a cooling las-gun. "Behind and above! Second story!" he shouts raising his shield and stepping back to try and cover the Blazing Sisters. Mavia and her sisters turn as one, their guns training of the second level.

Bolter fire was returned, but the targest weren't all that visible to the Sisters as they seemed to be hidden in a darkness impenetrable to their night vision lenses. Essesa was the first to speak up, several beams flying past her helmet and one scorching the armor plate on her thigh. "Lellen! The pillars!" Sister Lellen immediately knew what Essesa was speaking of, and repositioned herself dropping to a knee and firing into a series of pillars under the balcony, the rounds blowing out the wooden beams, the balcony beginning to groan and finally crashed to the ground among piles of rubble. One of the Remade soldiers rolled too far though from the balcony and found himself laying at Decimus' feet and began to fire at point blank range screaming as he did. Decimus looks down at the Remade and is shot again, he takes a step forward and stomps down hard absorbing the last few shots from the doomed man. The rebel's screams cut short as the terminator's boot crushes the man's ribs into the floor. Decimus searches the rubble for his next target but with the thick unnatural blackness still obscuring his vision he raises the shield and waits for the las fire to give away their positions.

Suddenly more las fire tore from behind the rubble, the fierce laser blasts scorching across the plates of the Blazing Sisters' armor. Bolter rounds were returned sending up explosions of rubble with every round that struck. A soldier's head peeked out from behind a piece of stone, but it quickly became a gushing pulp as a bolter round found it's mark permanantly erasing his features and his life force. Decimus roars "Face me you cowards!" in defiance and charges the rebels, his massive presence and intimidating bulk drawing all the fire from the remaining rebels, their las fire having little effect on his armor.

The tides would not be in the Astartes favor for long though, suddenly Lellen was flying through the air and unseen force throwing her through a wall to land on the ground with a loud crash as her armor broke through broken masonry, and fallen glass. Lellen didn't move though from her position on the ground as the unseen force had rendered her unconscious. Essesa, and Mavia both turned at this time to see what had struck their sister, and found themselves facing a woman standing in front of the altar, her body draped in torn rags that concealed almost none of her form that had been painted blue with swirling symbols, her head shaved bald with further tattoos lining her scalp. Both of the Sisters brought their bolters up to fire, only for lightning to strike Mavia her body sent backwards, the lenses on her helmet shattering as smoke began to rise from the ocular cavities of her skull beneath. Essesa fired immediatley, but found her bolts shattering in midair before reaching the woman's torso, a tome tied to the woman's chest glowing bright blue as each shot approached.

"Your Imperium is doomed foolish warriors. You are destined to die in vain!" The woman's voice was a hissing shrill thing, that sound as if it had come from some kind of foul serpentine creature that had gained the ability to speak. Her hands rose once more, but Dawess turned and fired a single round that tore through the psyker's right arm shearing it off, and sending it flying through the air causing the blue painted woman to scream in pain, blue flames beginning to pour from her body across the floor.

As Decimus charged the last few rebels they stubbornly stood their ground fighting to the last. He used his shield and inhuman momentum to bulldoze through a mound of rubble concealing one of the rebels, on the other side he swiped his blade cleanly severing the mans head from his shoulders. Several more las blasts glance off his armor from the last pair of rebels, Decimus marches towards them and bashes one away with his shield, the soldier flies through the air into a wall and crumples into a broken heap. Decimus thrusts his blade at the final rebel impaling him through the chest, even with the sword jutting out his back he raises the las-gun and fires again, making the center of his breastplate hot enough to briefly glow. After yanking the sword from his dead opponent Decimus turns to continue the fight. only to see flame engulfing the room.

Dawess stumbled back her arm raising up as flames began to wash over her, her voice could be heard yelling across the vox as the inside of her armor began to rise in temperature. The flames suddenly stopped though as the Psyker's head popped like a melon and the body dropped to the ground blood pouring out into the dust, and stone. Lellen stepped through the hole in the wall smoke rising from the bolter's barrel. "Threat eliminated." She looked to Decimus, then back to Dawess. "You alright?" A nod and she looked to Essesa, and another nod was given. Her head swiveled to Mavia, and she crouched down next to her form pulling her helmet free. Mavia's face was scorched, the skin charred black and her eyes had exploded at some point smoke still rising from the socket. "Sister Mavia has expired." Lellen brought her head up to look to Decimus. He steps over to join Lellen and examines the fallen Sister, "By the Emperor" he breaths while kneeling down "She was a good warrior Sergeant."

With a nod Lellen stood, and placed her hand on Decimus' shoulder. "This planet has taken many good warriors." As she turned she saw Essesa reaching down to the fallen body of the psyker ripping the book strapped to the dead bodies' chest free. "What is this thing Sergeant it was able to stop our bullets?" Lellen held out her hand, "Stop! We don't kno-" but Lellen was too late as Essesa opened the book, the room suddenly growing a bright blue as flame began to pour out of every joint of Essesa's armor, her lenses blasting outward, the armor beginning to glow red from the inside, cracks spiderwebbing across the plates. The book dropped from Essesa's hands and she dropped to her knees staying in the kneeling position, her helmet falling forward and off only dust spilling from the armor as everything inside had been burnt into ash.

Decimus heard Essesa say something about a book, but he was not immediately interested in some old tome. He scooped Sister Mavia into his arms carrying her like a child, her weight easily carried by his armor. As he stood he heard Lellen yell, just as he turned his head the grusome display of fire erupted from Essesa. He took a nervous step back, and then two, unsure of what could be done. As the sister's hemet fell to the floor he stared at the book, "W- What sorcery is this?"

The two remaining sisters stared at the display, Lellen moving first. "Sister Dawess go, tell Captain Thalestra what has happened here. Cousin Decimus. Perhaps it would be best for you to take sister Mavia's body to the Apothecary for gene seed extraction. I will stand guard outside of the temple to make sure no others enter."

----

The looming form of the Primarch surrounded by the Slayers of Herakles moved towards those that had been in the temple during the ambush. She had already been briefed by both Captain Thalastris, and Sergeant Lellen. She stopped to stand before Decimus, her hands on her hips, as a grim look was stretched across her features. "Decimus, I have spoken to my daughteres on the incident. I would like to hear your version of what has taken place here." Her tone brooked no non-sense as if it was less of a question and more of a demand. Even now wearing only a toga, and sandals she looked as though she could easily tear apart any of the astartes around her at a lightning speed, a rage barely concealed within her blue orbs. She was not angry with Decimus, but rather at the situation, the tone in her voice also telling him that she did not consider him at fault for anything that had occured.

Decimus brings his fist to his chest and salutes the Primarch with a deep bow of the head. while he stares down at his boots considering how to answer, he knew it wasnt his fault for the incident but the Primarch's fury intimidated him none the less. he shifts his gaze to Farrah "Of course my lord, i was attached to Sergeant Lellen's squad by Captain Thalestris, who instructed us to investigate the temple." Decimus paused, running through the events in his mind, ensure he did not miss any important detals. "We carefully approached the temple, i brought up the rear by Lellen's orders. Upon entrance we held a tactical forma-"

Farah's hand rose to stop him from breifing her further. "I do not need all the minor details. Please... I want to know about the incident with the book Sergeant Decimus. Start from what first happened there." Her eyebrows raised, as if to let him know she would not take no on the advanced in briefing for an answer.

Decimus nods in answer, "I was retrieving the slain Sister Mavia when Essesa picked up the book, i did not see her pick it up myself but i heard her say something about it." He pauses again endeavoring to remember the words. "i believe she said, 'What is this? It was able to stop our bullets', that was when Lellen ordered her to stop, when i looked over at them..." Decimus' brow knits into frustration as he searches for the correct words to describe the horror of what he witnessed. "I... dont know how to explain it, it was as if her body burst into flame. The heat was enormous, enough to crack ceramite. There was nothing any of us could do, by the time i had realized what happened it was already over. After that Dawess was instructed to inform the Captain and i took Mavia to the Apothecary."

A slow nod was all the Primarch gave to Decimus before walking past him heading towards the temple. "Slayers, you will remain here. i will enter alone." Farah's honor guard stood still though they seemed as if they wanted to rush after her right away. For a long time Farah did not emerge from the temple, at least twenty minutes passing by. Then suddenly the door swung open, Farah carried what was likely the book wrapped in rags as she walked towards the group. "Everyone who has been witness to this incident or has heard of it... The incident is not to be told to anyone else. I will hand over this book to the Emperor myself, and report what has taken place are we understood?" Once more she didn't wait for an answer as she strode away placing the book inside of a Adamantium case one of her honor guard was carrying.

Decimus heard Farah instruct everyone that the incident was not to be discussed, but surely he had to tell Maximus. However another Primarch given them all orders, the conflict raged through Decimus' mind for several moments before he finally decided that what he had witnessed was too grave for him to keep secret, if nothing else Maximus must know what heppend here. Artifacts such as these would bring danger to his legion and the Imperium, he stared at the Primarch and her entourage leaving, 'She should have burnt that book while she had the chance' thinks Decimus 'it will only bring ruin.'

[Hank]

Reflection

Written with the ever-so-gracious @Culluket

Location: Byzanthrian, Ikarian sector, Segmentum Obscurus.
Date: Late 986.M30.
Parties Involved: Gorseval the Dark Star, Primarch of the XXth Legion, and Lydia Magaera, Lady of Victory, Primarch of the XIIIth Legion.

---

The Remembrancers were calling it the Liberation of Byzanthrian. A mighty and proud Forge-world had been brought back into the fold and was going to significantly contribute to the Crusade's industrial needs; cause for celebration across the width of the Imperium, surely. The official story was that rogue elements within the world's governing bodies had performed a coup d'etat, overthrowing the authority of the Great Smith, and the valiant efforts of the Void Stalkers had reinstated the rightful ruler to the throne. Grateful, the Great Smith had enthusiastically joined the Imperium and pledged his world's services to the Emperor.

That is what the citizenry of the Imperium would be told. It was a lie. Gorseval stood at the edge of an enormous crater, so large that its far edge was hidden behind the curvature of Byzanthrian itself. Its depth was so vast that clouds had formed inside the bowl-shaped dent in the earth, something that would undoubtedly change the local ecosystem for millions of years to come. The earth beneath Gorseval was black, rough and made a sharp cracking sound every time he shifted his weight. The sand had turned to glass.

It was night. There was no artificial light source left in a 1,500-mile radius, and the stars reflected tenderly in Gorseval's pearlescent power armor. Many of his fellow Primarchs had their suits of armor heavily modified with engravings and sculpted shapes, but not Gorseval -- his armor was as smooth as a pool of still water. Upon arriving at the crater's edge, Gorseval had stabbed Darkness into the ground. There he stood, still and unmoving for hours, his gauntlets grabbing the hilt tightly, head bowed and long black hair hanging like curtains down the sides of his pale, graven face, staring out into the crater.

He was almost completely alone, save for one other.

Lydia stood some distance behind her brother, spear planted in the brittle ground, her armored hand resting on the rim of her shield. Of course she did. The sun to his shadow. He didn't need to look to know she was there, nor have heard the sound of the shuttle which brought her, but such was the depth of the abyss into which he now stared that nothing else could reach him.

She stood impervious in the dark night, a low, cold wind tugging at her braids, her mind as silent as her body. Gradually, her hand moved to lift her helm, tilting it back against her hair, and she took in the black magnitude of the desolation laid out before her with her own eyes. The wind blew again, colder and harder with nothing left to stop it. Dark fragments drifted and swirled from squat, twisted stalagmites that could once have been anything at all, barely visible in the deepening night.

It was less than a wasteland.

She turned her head aside, outwardly as impassive as ever, hesitating to reach out more directly, a mental hand pausing midway to her brother's shoulder. And after enough time had passed in silence, she announced herself, a sound ringing in the Silent King's mind like the single toll of a bronze bell.

There was no immediate reaction. Like a great, abyssal leviathan slowly resurfacing, Gorseval's mind returned to the here-and-now, and he acknowledged Lydia's presence with a short telepathic ping after another minute had passed. He didn't turn to face her but that was unnecessary. Their communication didn't require it. Instead, Gorseval took a deep breath, cleared his throat and started speaking. His voice was as cold and emotionless as always, and yet it managed to sound even more distant now.

"When we came upon Byzanthrian, I initially expected the Great Smith to surrender immediately. We blacked out the sun with our fleet and my message was very clear -- embrace the Imperial Truth or suffer the consequences. They had some ships, but it was a pitiful affair. I admired him when he said 'no'. It was the exact same thing I would have done... the exact same thing I have done. Father sent me a message of peace and reconciliation after driving away my enemies. I'm sure he, too, expected me to surrender immediately."

Gorseval fell silent again. The wind had picked up speed and brushed against his hair, and the ground shattered beneath his armored boot when he moved an inch to the right. The stars shone quietly, eternal, perfect and uncaring.

"I had to destroy the Great Smith, of course, and the people; they stood squarely behind their leader. I think their long isolation made them xenophobic, paranoid and fiercely independent. The idea of being ruled by another must have repulsed them. These are all things I understand very well. And yet... I cannot allow them to exist. Father commands that we conquer every world, and so we must. This Crusade cannot end until every human in existence is rallied behind a single banner."

The clouds in the crater moved slowly, morphing and billowing into new shapes. It was impossible to see them move, and yet their form had changed slightly every time Gorseval looked away and back again.

"Do you know how it was possible I held out so long against Father? It took him, Mon-Kal and Erron a long time to force me to submit. They had to kill almost my entire army before they got to me. Do you know why, Lydia?"

There was a vague, insubstantial flow of visions: pearlescent hands arranging a gameboard, setting pieces along a tactical map, determining the battlefield before the first move had been made, but the answer was thin and practical. A factor, not the heart of it all.

The wavering images parted and fell like mist, and there was only the Emperor, and Gorseval: each of them facing away from the other, each staring off into a distance the other could not see.

The Emperor was the Emperor. And Gorseval was Gorseval. So alike, and yet so very different.

"Yes," Gorseval said. There was a hint of relief in his voice. "Father cannot do the things I can do. You understand."

Words fell short and Gorseval decided to show her instead. Void Stalkers huddled close to the walls of a great factorium in the darkness as they moved towards the entrance, storm bolters at the ready. The towering Marines kicked down the doors and blew open the shutters. Their guns spit fiery death and hundreds of factory workers were cut down; those that knelt in surrender and raised their heads received a single round to the forehead. The factorium floor was slick with blood and covered in gore. The corpses were gathered and impaled on spikes throughout the city. When the sun rose, the cries of the mourning lasted for hours.

Soldiers were ambushed in their beds by shifting mountains of shadow, wielding long, silver daggers. Children were dragged through the street. Virulent clouds carrying a horrible plague were released into the air; rivers and lakes were poisoned. Lydia suddenly saw something from the perspective of a mortal man, the Great Smith, his muscular arms covered in geometric tattoos. His fist slammed down on a map, denting the table. Someone had brought him news, another man, and they were both weeping with rage and sorrow.

Horthrodus, the capital city, burned. Earthquakes wracked the entire continent as the Eclipse's Lance batteries fired salvo after salvo.

"The Great Smith's resistance failed because his people abandoned his cause in the face of such cruel punishment," Gorseval said. "My Stalkers found him less than three days after I unmade Byzanthrian's crowning jewel." He showed her a few flashes of what he'd done to the man; the proud, defiant, and screaming face of the Great Smith, an impression of oppressive darkness and the same face again, bleached white and quivering.

Gorseval waited for Lydia's response. If she was shocked or unsettled by the dark revelations, she gave no sign. Her mind was opaque and unmoved, only palpably, inescapably there. The wind keened, the blades at the ends of her braided hair clinked against the back of her armor, and there was no other sound. Only her silent presence.

"Either way," Gorseval said eventually, "Byzanthrian is ours now. The Great Smith has seen the error of his ways." He paused again to gather his thoughts and raised a hand, gesturing at the wide expanse of nothing in front of them. "I came down here to look at the abyss I created. We have the power to destroy worlds, sister, and I used that power to bring a world back into the fold. Millions died, but billions of others will serve us now. Some would call that just. Others would not... but it's what I will tell Father, should he ever ask; that I thought this was necessary to get Byzanthrian to cooperate as fast as possible. That it was for the Crusade."

He laughed, but it was a high, cold and mirthless sound. "The truth is that I did it because it felt good. To crush, conquer and destroy. And yet, now that it is done, I only feel so empty again. All I can do is... move to the next planet. Crush the next enemy. Human, Ork, Eldar... it is all the same."

The wind died down again and dissipated entirely. Gorseval's cape hung down his back like a death shroud, still and depthless.

From nowhere the great bronze bell sounded again in Gorseval's mind, but now it was deafening; no longer rung in gentle announcement but in a terrible peal of command. His own words sounded in the afterecho, ringing back to him from the vast depths of the pit he had created: "You understand." There was a powerful sense of diamond-hard affirmation.

Lydia understood only too well.

In their shared sight, as though each eye looked upon a different scene, the lifeless obsidian desert was overlaid with a long garden, walled in cracked marble and overgrown with ivy and weeds. Gorseval's words, his justifications and rationalizations, carved as statues lining its cobbled path. The sculptures were detailed and horribly real, and somehow the Void Stalker Primarch knew that they had not been carved at all, but transformed from living flesh by some hideous and unearthly power, as surely as the black mass upon which they now stood.
A flicker, and he saw himself sat at a table in a black void, playing Regicide against the Smith. At once the figment-Gorseval rose and drew his blade like a man possessed, slamming it into the board, cleaving the table in two and sending pieces both black and white scattering into the impenetrable shadows before running his opponent through like a lamb upon a spit.

The Smith's dead body rolled over at the victor's feet, and the face Gorseval saw was his own.

The titaness released her armaments, which remained suspended in their positions as surely as if she still held them, and stode, firmly and inevitably, toward her brother. Her greaves smashed tinkling footfalls through crystalized slag as she walked, and with each sound, Gorseval's inner eye saw one after another of the statues shatter and collapse at her approach, her wake lined with the broken rubble of half-truths and distractions that she gave not the barest glance. Split-second visions assailed him in fragmentary bursts: Nightmarish creatures of the Warped places of Asphodel, a pillared black cavern that radiated fear; a nation put into chains and made to strip their forests bare to bring a world beneath her heel; blood raining from barbed whips, the ecstatic shrieking of priestesses turned to the howling drone of the Lady's terminators, rebel theocrats and half their families dragged into the bellies of their golden idols and roasted alive by white-and-black armored astartes; the tripartate whip; bladed hair stained red; a litany of blood-curdling tortures; and through it all she drew nearer, burning with a light as clear and pitiless as any darkness. He felt her will, like her hand beneah his chin, urging, insisting that he turn and look at her, that he turn from his barathrum and look her in the eyes and unbar the gate which held the hidden, wordless truth.

Compelled, Gorseval tore Darkness out of the earth and turned to face his sister. He met her sapphire eyes with his own empty black gaze, his face frozen in a look of despair so great it seemed to encompass the suffering of all of mankind. She was right; what he'd said wasn't entirely true. Inflicting such devastating and cruel punishments on the world of Byzanthrian hadn't felt good, it had simply temporarily satisfied something monstrous and unrelenting inside of him. And that was almost the same thing. "Very well," he said quietly.

The world seemed to fall away around them as a veil of utter darkness rose up from beneath Gorseval's feet, smothering the land and the sky and the stars. Gorseval and Lydia floated weightlessly in a featureless black void that went on forever and ever.

It was not empty.

Two points of light materialized before them like a pair of eyes, so bright, and yet darker and filthier than the void surrounding it. The screamlight hungered, growling and roaring in deafening silence. It was a primal instinct, the very same that had driven the first human to dominate another, so overwhelming and dense it was almost sentient. This was what lurked in the blackness of Gorseval's mind, circling around the edges, always demanding tribute. More and more and more. No matter what he threw into this bottomless pit, no matter how many victories he won, worlds he conquered, enemies he destroyed, this ravenous hunger would consume it all and leave him with nothing. Gorseval was unable to look away.

"This is my curse," he whispered.

Magaera looked.

She stood rigid before the faceless, empty heart of the black whirlpool, face held high, staring it down and never changing expression as the void screamed wordlessly around her like an unseen gale. The light of the formless eyes burned like acid, pinprick punctures in reality, funneling everything into themselves with a mindless thirst that was not even true hunger but like some terrible wound in space and time. This was what she had demanded to see, and now she would see it. Lydia stared into the abyss, and relentlessly the abyss stared back.

They remained there in the vast darkness, in the presence of that unbearable black thing, for what seemed an eternity, time itself losing all meaning in the endless night, and still she looked, her mind walled and silent, her face grave. For how many hours, none could say, but at some point, as the howling vortex continued to drain the universe around them, Gorseval became aware that Lydia had taken his hand in hers. And still she stared into the throat of death, refusing to look away.

After a lifetime of forevers, the baleful lights receded, the silent gate slowly closed, and they stood again upon the rim of the wide, black crater that had once shone with a million lives. The wind moaned forlornly beneath cold, fragile stars, and they stood, hand in hand, staring endlessly down into the shapeless darkness.

Without a word.

[Savage]

Event Name: Honor the Lost
Location: Orrian's Fury, flagship of the the Great Chief, traveling through the Warp
Date: 991.M30
Parties Involved: The Ancient: Josef Hinde, Dreadnaught of the Wild Blades. Flora Harper, Remembrancer. Sildur Farram, Thane of the 7th Company. Kallen Gorn, Seer of the Wild Blades.

Within one of the great libraries of the Gloriana class Battleship, Orrian’s Fury, Flora Harper sat with her legs crossed at the knee upon a wooden stool. The massive vaulted shelves were filled with all manner of texts from across the Imperium. In her short time with the Legion, Flora had heard nothing but stories of the barbaric savagery of the legendary Astartes warriors. She had never yet seen the likes of the Wild Blades in combat, no Remembrancer had. But the soldiers of the Justicarian Guard had told plenty of tales around mugs of beer to the huddled groups of Remembrancer’s who sat with rapt attention. Given the stories, she had expected to find trophy rooms filled with the heads of xenos, rooms with racks of terrifying weapons, and the sounds of constant combat as the Wild Blades trained endlessly for war. She was shocked when she was finally given pass to board the flagship of the Primarch to find such a large portion of the ship devoted to the preservation of knowledge and literature.

Iterators, Remembrancers, and Imperial scholars of various callings sat in silence or talked in hushed tones around stacks of books. Some were bent over their notes, scribbling away on parchment as they conducted their research or wrote their own. She wasn’t interested in any of them in the slightest. She pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear as it fell out of place, dangling in front of her eyes and tickling the tip of her nose. She had her sketch pad resting against her knees, humming softly as she drew the tip of her black charcoal pencil along its surface with practiced skill. Ever so often her blue eyes would flicker up to examine the product of her interest, before busily returning to add more detail.

Dominating an entire section of the library stood a figure in which the rest of the occupants gave a wide berth. Only Flora had dared to sit this close. Immense, dauntless, the adamantium armor a sage green of vibrant forests, traced with golden details and tribal patterns. Engraved upon nearly every inch of the titanic form were pictures of men and monsters. Some were of war, others of peace, but each one told a story unique to the Wild Blades and their past. Her azure gaze roamed over the surface, taking in every small detail, wanting to capture the moment of the impassive serenity that surrounded the unmoving giant.

The Ancient, oldest and most venerated of all the Legions Dreadnaughts, stood silently in the vaulted halls of the library. Cables snaked their way from a machine dwarfed by his size to a small gap in the armored sarcophagus, linking his mind to the memory stores as he downloaded his thoughts and musings. He had noticed the girl a long time ago, but was deep within his own mind as he retold the stories lodged in his memory and complied them into the data stores of the library. Today was a day for reflection, and Josef Hinde was deep within the thoughts of the past as he remembered the first days of the Legion. He had been one of the very first recruits, taken from his family at a young age and into the arms of the Emperor and his scientists. Josef remembered the agony following the surgeries, the power he began to feel as his body healed and hardened. He became a demi-god among men, the first of many to follow that would bear the name of the Xth Legion and carry the title of Huntsmen. They had sailed out with the claim of the Emperor that they were bringing light to the lost worlds of man. Even then, Josef had known that he and his new brothers were bred for one purpose. War. They had been baptized quickly in the fires of combat, proving themselves a greater foe than any xenos had ever encountered. Their path was brutal and bloody, felling worlds like grain before the scythe. They only had one purpose: to crush the enemies of man and bring back the scattered race.

It had not been until the discovery of their gene-father that Josef had known something other than battle. The reunion of the Great Chief and his Legion brought forward a new age for the Huntsmen, re-clad in the image of their Primarch and given a new name. Erron Khaal brought with him all the glories and hardships of Varnis, bestowing his children with the task of living up to the legends of his home. When he had fallen, his body interned within this tomb of metal, Josef took it upon himself to ensure that the past of his Legion would be forever remembered, so that none would ever lose their way among the darkness that forever hovered at the edges of the void.

Pulling himself out of his memories, Josef disengaged the cables with a sharp *snick*, his body creaking and groaning as he turned the massive Dreadnaught body to regard the small girl sitting near him. Flora squeaked and dropped her pencil in surprise, her eyes wide as the sudden movement startled her out of her trance.

+Do not be afraid child+ Josef said, his voice a deep bass rumble that echoed from within the body of his body. “I…I wasn’t afraid,” Flora said, regaining her composure and picking up the fallen pencil and sliding it behind her ear, “I just..wasn’t expecting you to move I guess.”

A steady rumble ran through the shelves of books, making the bones inside of Floras chest vibrate with its resonance. She realized after a moment that the Dreadnaught was laughing. +Then forgive me, it is not often that one not of my kind come and visit. May I see your work?+

Flora suddenly felt very nervous. She had not asked the massive beings permission before she began sketching him. Self-conscious, with her face flushing a bit she turned the book in her lap and held it so the Dreadnaught could see. Several moments went by in silence, each second seeming longer as Flora waited for his response.

+That is very impressive Miss Harper, I am honored to have received such attention. In truth I have not gazed upon my own likeness in several hundred years. It is a sobering thing to be reminded that I am still a being of this world.+

Flora blew out a sigh of relief, feeling pride. “Thank you my lord, I…wait how do you know my name?”

+There is little that goes on within the Legion that escapes my knowledge Miss Harper. And you may call me Josef, I dislike the nobility so commonly given to my kind.+

“Very well my…Josef, then would you please simply call me Flora? I did not escape the confines of my father’s estates to continue being referred to as Miss every time someone speaks to me.” The Ancient leaned forward a bit, then straightening. +As you wish Flora. Tell me, what do you think of this Crusade so far?+ Flora chewed the inside of her cheek a bit, thinking. She knew the obvious answer of course, in that the Crusade was a wondrous undertaking for the betterment of all mankind. Yet she felt that this Dreadnaught did not want to textbook answer. He was genuinely interested in her thoughts.

”Honestly I don’t know. I haven’t been allowed to see much outside of the ships and the aftermath of planets brought into compliance. Everything I see and hear is from the mouths of Iterators and seems so carefully scripted. I just don’t know if what I am seeing is actually the truth. I wanted to become a Remembrancer and use my art to show the people of Terra what this Crusade actually is. Whether that is good or bad it doesn’t matter. I just want the truth.”

Josef was silent for a moment as he processed her words. +I appreciate your honesty. Seeking the truth is a honorable quest, but it is dangerous. Do you truly believe that Terra wants to know the truth? You said you have seen the aftermath, yet I know that no Remembrancers have yet witnessed the carnage that proceeds or the cleanup involved. You receive a sanitized view of our work because to witness the truth may leave a stain upon the final product.+

“Is that why you sit in here, recording the history? So you can polish it and make your Legion appear as noble and heroic as you want?” Flora snapped, suddenly indigent even before the colossal form of the Dreadnaught. As she finished her outburst she felt ashamed, and looked down at the floor, worried she had offended him.

+I record everything for the sake of my Legion. They have all shared in the struggles, and it is important for the new members of the Wild Blades to be able to look back on our history. You do not know of our culture, but the traditions of our past are of the utmost importance to us. The stories of the old days and the spirits of our ancestors guide our actions.+

Flora sat silently, accepting his words. She did not agree. It was not for the Astartes that this Crusade was waged. It was for Terra. And Terra deserved to know everything. She knew she would not sway the indomitable will of the Dreadnaught with her rantings. However, something he had said rankled in her mind.

“Spirits? Then it’s true that the old ways of Varnis are not lost on the Wild Blades? Does your Legion still practice the religion I’ve read about?”

The Ancient rose to his full height. +Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. No, we do not revere the Spirits as Varnis once did. The Imperial Truth has shown us the light. We simply seek to honor the memories of those who came before.+ Turning again, his Dreadnaught body creaked as he began moving toward the massive archway out of the library, his steps shuddering the ground. +Until next time Miss Harper.+

---

“I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Kallen Gorn leaned against a tree, dressed in loose trousers and a leather vest. A broad leather belt around his waist held a knife sheathed across his left hip, and his boots crunched against the grass beneath his feet. His gray hair was tied back in a ponytail, the tattoos along his arms making the skin look nearly black in comparison to the rest of his bronze tone. His brown eyes looked toward the other approaching.

Similarly dressed, though his own vest draped in a fur pelt, Sildur Farram walked up and waved off the remark with his hand. His dreadlocks bounced against his face as he made his way through the green field to the tree the old Seer was occupying. “Forgive me, duties of a Thane kept me longer than I wished.”

The pair stood in the most unique chamber of the entire fleet. Known as The Grove, the massive chamber had been specially requested by the Primarch himself. The vaulted walls were wreathed in vines and moss, the ground covered in the fertile soil of Varnis and sowed with grasses of their home. Great trees dominated, their branches reaching nearly the top of the vaulted ceiling that fed the vegetation with artificial sunlight. Gorn tilted his head to stare up at that ceiling now, amazed at the work the Mechaninum had done. Built with holographic panels, the ceiling reflected an exact copy of the Varnisian sky. The chamber was built with a timer in sync with their capital, so that they sun rose and set at the same rate. It must be night now, as The Grove was bathed in moonlight, and Gorn could see the constellations and twin moons of their world. He took a moment to bask in the soft illumination, closing his eyes and savoring the tranquility. There was even a calm breeze, the leaves of the trees shifting and tugging at his hair as it washed across his face.

He then returned his gaze back to the Thane, and pushed off against the tree. Both Astartes fell in stride, walking a well familiar path to the both of them. Despite the lack of a chill Sildur shivered. “Nervous again Sildur?’ Kallen asked, disregarding the mans rank in this most private of places.

“You know that I dislike doing these things in public. What if the Great Chief decided to come for a stroll? He would not take this lightly.” Sildur muttered, whispering despite the fact that the two warriors were alone.

“Relax Sildur, no one will come. This is the only place that is truly worthy in the entire fleet. Do you really think the Primarch built this magnificent representation of Varnis simply for vanity?”

Sildur muttered something under his breath, but the Seer was right. They had come here dozens of times, and Sildur had his own suspicions of their leader despite what he saw. The two continued walking in silence, letting the noise of the forest fill the gap in conversation until they came to a clearing in the trees. Before them in an circle were ten beautifully carved wooded figures. Each of them was the same height as the Astartes, and each represented one of the totems of the Great Beasts. All ten were represented in carefully detailed sculpture, and the two Astartes made their way into the center of the circle and knelt down in the grass as if it were a well-rehearsed play.

They tilted their heads back, looking up at the night sky. Both raised their arms out wide, as if embracing the stars. Sildur closed his eyes, a small smile spreading on his face as he relaxed. He felt the wind, the grass against his knees, the gentle sag in the earth as it accepted his weight. Here, in the midst of the void, he could still feel the Spirits of Varnis.

“Great Beasts, hear us now,” Kallen spoke, his voice soft and reverent. “We come to you, looking for your guidance. Let your power flow over us and fill our hearts with the righteous path.” Sildur mouthed the same words, feeling the pulse of his homeworld in his chest.

“We are your champions, your sword in the dark. Sharpen us. Let our ancestors come and show us how to honor their memory. We give you our blood,” at this both men drew the knives from their belts, never opening their eyes as they cut a small gash in their palms, and smeared the crimson stain upon the grass before them. “And we give you our hearts. Speak to us now.”

The knelt in silence then, their blades forgotten on the ground, a small trickle of blood dripping from one palm. Nothing moved save the wind through the trees.

Kallen then sighed, a small satisfied noise.

“Do you hear the whispers Sildur?”

Deep in the corners of his mind, he heard them. Softly, so quiet he could not make out the words. Like a gentle tendril tickling the edge of his consciousness he felt the presence of something greater.

Yes...he could hear the whispers too.

[Ezekiel]

Derp