Inspirational Friday 2017: The Black Legion (until 1/5)

[Kierdale]

No flak, Urriak! I haven’t read it yet but thank you for the first entry :tu:

 

For those who are not interested in writing any fiction on the topic but are interested in discussion, we’ve discussed a few ideas in the thread in Amicus: HERE.

[MaliGn]

The Faithful Son

 

"What if Horus had won?!" The old warrior spat, bitterly injecting a savage inflection to the sentiment. "Let me tell you about 'What if Horus Won'" his lips twisted into a cruel snarl as he spoke the fallen Warmaster's name. "Horus was a fool, he never understood the Truth! He tried to make slaves out of Gods!" He shook his head and looked down, "What if Horus had won?" He muttered, almost to himself. "What would have happened then? The corpse-emperor fallen at his favoured son's feet? The whole Galaxy would have learned the Truth! The Truth that Blessed Lorgar found on Cadia! The Primordial, fundamental Truth that underpins everything." The ancient Word Bearer's eyes gleamed at the mention of his Primarch; where otherwise only hatred burned, for an instant something more shone. 

 

"Fear, Pain, Hunger, Despair, these are what keeps Humanity alive, not some guiding light, it has ever been so, when you strip back everything else it is the urgency of these base emotions that has always been the driving force of life itself." He paused, relishing the knowledge; licking his lips he continued: "These base emotions are the source of the Dark Gods' power, their very essence, this was Horus' biggest failure. He thought he could control them, control the Gods of the Empyrean! Pah! He may as well have tried to hold the snows of Fenris in his hands or parlay with an Ork!" The speaker paused, as if pleased with himself, he smiled in self-satisfaction. 

"Horus was lucky he lost, if he had won he would have tried to exert control over the uncontrollable, he would have attempted to wrestle his will onto the raw hunger of instinct personified! He was ever the puppet of the Dark Gods, a tool they would have discarded once it had served it's use." The smile was resolved by a disdainful sneer, "Horus was a plaything, nothing more, had he won he would have learnt just how fickle Chaos can be, he would have been torn apart, as would the Galaxy, now you may see that as a blessing, and perhaps it would have been. After all it would have allowed someone who truly understood the Truth to gain power." He smiled again, his thin lips twisting around his pointed teeth mockingly. 

"Lorgar knew, Lorgar had faith." His voice quickened, a note of fervour gripping him as he uttered his beloved primarch's name. "Lorgar would have ridden the ebb and flow of the tides of the raw unchecked emotion that would have engulfed the galaxy, he understood that change and alteration were inevitable and rather than fight against these things he would have been a noble pilot, dancing like a leaf on the wind!" His eyes almost began to glaze over with the reverence in his voice. "This is why the Aurelian has been in exclusion for millennia since Horus failed, preparing for the next opportunity to present itself, as it does now at the dawn of the so-called Dark Imperium! the Urizen's time is coming!" Spittle gathered at the corners of the fanatic's mouth, the cadence and pitch of his voice peaking as his excitement grew to a fever pitch. His eyes shone with barely controlled mania, "if Horus had won? Don't make me laugh!"

[Sagentus]

Urriak- great read and perspective of the iron warriors. Also i think the idea of the universe still being a massive battleground even if horus won and the way they are head hunting the other legions a great read

 

MaliGn - i really like the idea of horus winning beimg just a thought of the word bearer and how he saw horus was just a paw in the chaos gods game

[Urriak Urruk]

Urriak- great read and perspective of the iron warriors. Also i think the idea of the universe still being a massive battleground even if horus won and the way they are head hunting the other legions a great read

 

MaliGn - i really like the idea of horus winning beimg just a thought of the word bearer and how he saw horus was just a paw in the chaos gods game

 

Thanks! I bet Horus believed that by killing the Emperor it would have been game over, he's the new big boss, roll credits. But from the loyalist perspective, Guilliman was already prepared to start over with Secundus, and the more wild Primarchs like Leman probably would have wanted Horus' head as some sort of consolation prize.

[Kierdale]

The Last

Hidden Content

The starship cut through the void. Upon the black velvet of space were scattered countless diamonds: star systems that had once been home to myriad races.

The majority long gone. Gone in the galaxy-spanning wars before the rise of Man. Gone in that belligerent race’s expansion across the cosmos, claiming all as their birthright, their destiny. Just as elder races had sought to conquer the stars before them.

And the steady extermination of alien life had taken a pause - not a complete cessation, for xenos still fought xenos, but a slowing - as the Pantheon had turned the Master of Mankind’s favoured son, the brightest star, against his father and the Empire of Man had torn itself apart.

Destiny blinked and son slew father. But the bloodshed did not cease as the Gods of Chaos set about the birthworld. Not only that of Man but also of three of their number.

The veil of madness was lifted from the eyes of some of their strongest pawns in the years after their greatest triumph and some attempted to break their fetters, to free their minds and souls...some successfully yet forever wounded, others merely damning themselves more. Brother turned upon brother, both those who had fought under the banner of ‘loyalist’ and ‘traitor’. And the Gods’ laughter rang out through the spheres as it never had before.

Nor ever would again, for in the conflagration that consumed that species, they too did burn themselves out, to naught but glowing embers.

 

The globe before the ship’s great prow was verdant and green, with oceans azure.

“Why are we here, Priest?” The ship’s captain turned to the aged individual at his side as they gazed out the massive porthole, one of his hands rested upon the railing that separated his command throne from the crew pits bathed in lambent light. His other hand rested on his hip and the hilt of the sword buckled there. A subtle reminder that while the priest guided the ship, he was its captain and master.

“On your behalf I shall beseech the gods to answer your query, captain, but I fear they may not reveal-“

“As you well know I wasn’t talking bloody theologically, Priest,” and he stabbed a finger at the world before them. “Why have you decanted us here?”

“Do we not seek new, ripe worlds? Is that not our mission and purpose? In my old age have I erred?”

“This is not where we were supposed to be, as you well know.”

The priest feigned surprise, squinting his old eyes at the planet. “It isn’t?” A jovial smile spread across his face. “Well, Captain, since we’re here...no harm in taking a look, is there?”

 

 

Ruins.

Insipid, unimaginative Euclidean geometry untouched by the hand of right-minded artisans. Dead architecture given life only by the vegetation of the planet that attempted to claim it and the other detritus of the lost civilisation. Skulls everywhere, it was repugnant to those of the landing party, suggestive of some terrible death-obsessed cult. Intricately carved reliefs displayed massed sacrifices to a corpse-like giant almost entirely encased in a mechanical-looking throne. Images of madness, of a race which had once blighted the galaxy.

Some of the warriors asserted they should tear down the reliefs, deeming them ill-omened, at which the priest had laughed and bade the captain send his men back to their shuttle. They were skittish, and should never have come, as he had told the captain upon the hangar deck.

“For what purpose are we here, Priest?” returned the captain, his webber held idly in his hands. The captain dedicated one of the ship’s holds to cages for his ‘prizes’: fauna he had collected on their travels.

The priest smiled as, as if in answer to the shipmaster’s question there came a rustling from their right.

“Our quarry!” And, despite the years that bent his back, the priest darted off, his shipmates in pursuit.

 

The creature was naked but for a loincloth which might once have been olive green but was so stained with sweat and waste that it was a foul brown. The priest thought he could make out a very worn icon upon the fabric: a pale skull flanked by wings. The being’s body was covered in flesh pinker than that of the priest, captain and the others of their race. Hair too. Its face was almost blunt in comparison to theirs. Ugly and unrefined. It’s body was also more muscular though the priest estimated that the creature must have grown up feral - it was unresponsive to what words of that extinct race’s guttural tongue that he could recall. A language forbidden, but those of the priesthood had their secrets.

No longer an extinct race, though, for they had found this one, and his Sense told him there were no more here. Even a cursory examination of its aura indicated its loneliness. And abject fear: their presence had drawn it out, seeking a mate perhaps, and now it lay trussed, shivering and eyeing the warriors warily.

“Is this...?” the captain began.

The priest nodded.

“But...they are but things of legend. None remain.”

“Or so we thought.”

The captain rounded on the priest. “You knew about this...this thing. You brought us here to capture it. You were guided here?”

“Praise be to Isha!” The warriors chorused.

The freed goddess, who guards us eternal against the return of She - the priest added sotto voce, for the priesthood had went to great pains over the millennia, to remove knowledge of their nemesis from the minds of their resurgent race.

“Is this the last one?”

The priest could read the distrust in the captain’s voice. The shipmaster realised now that the priesthood had kept so much from them, and while he asked the question, the priest doubted his answer would be believed, truthful or not.

“I do not know.”

The captain nodded, to himself as much as the others of the landing party.

“Then we keep it.” He moved to haul the webbed humanoid back toward the shuttle, but the priest stood between them.

“I cannot allow you to do that.”

The captain laughed. A hearty laugh that betrayed his buccaneer past, in which he had sold his sword and his ship in the wars against the awakening Enemy. In those wars, scouring those tomb worlds, he had earned his fame and fortune. Another race extinguished from the galaxy but for the one ‘survivor’ (if such a term could be applied to beings who had sacrificed their own lives for eternal existence) held within the ship’s vaults. One of the captain’s many prizes.

“If it is the last one then we have nothing to fear.” The captain recalled the legends he had been told as a child. He hadn’t believed them until this point. “That which went before cannot be brought back by a single one.”

“The priesthood believes you wrong,” the priest planted his rune-topped staff in the ground before him, defiantly.

The captain looked into the priest’s red eye lenses, set into the mask of his high helmet, jewels adorning its sides. It was said that in ages past, when the Goddess had been shackled by one of the Dark Powers, That their people had, upon death, stored their very souls within such stones. Such wild legends! The pretty adornments of the priesthood and the petty tales they wove to maintain their power!

A word came from the priest’s mouth, no word of their tongue that the well-travelled captain knew of, no dialect of any far-flung colony, and he heard a clatter as the weapons of his warriors fell from their limp hands. Each stood yet their bodies were as limp as gutted fish. As he watched their eyes rolled back in their sockets.

“You-“

And it took him too. A coldness that seemed to spread from his brain though he felt it more through his soul.

“Our race ruled the galaxy once, my captain, and it will again. The priesthood will see to it, no matter the price. No matter how many races, or our own people, must die.”

The priest turned from his captive audience to regard the bound biped.

“We learned one thing from them, long ago. Ignorance, dear captain, is bliss for the masses. And knowledge,” he regarded the relief of the enthroned corpse-figure, “is a burden those of power must shoulder.”

As life drained from his kinsmen into the stones set within his helmet, the priest turned and drove a slender dagger into the Last One.

 

 

 

 

And deep within the Warp, a child was born.

[Scourged]

Acuity

 

Hidden Content

Acuity

Everything was in ruins. The cockpit was a mess of sparks and ruined machinery. Not even the finest of technicians and artisans throughout the vast collective of the network could repair the damage done weapon and blade. Nothing short of years of repairs would return the bridge to operational order.

That mattered little, however, as the rest of the massive vessel was just as ruined, if not worse. The infiltration unit had struck with admirable precision to cripple and maim. Then once aboard they moved with an incoherent pattern, seemingly damaging and destroying areas at random. Only once the majority of the ship had been ruined beyond practical repair had the pattern of destruction made sense.

The broken vessel had become a fitting and appropriate metaphor for the entire Cabal. It, too, was forever ruined, brought down in a lightning raid that none had predicted. Swathes of advanced xenos from all manner of the galaxy were macerated corpses and charred husks of flesh throughout the decks and chambers. What little remained of the intelligent collective was lying within the bridge, dying at the feet of the invaders.

Pinned beneath one such foot was where Slau Dha was taking stock of the situation. Everything was lost. He, the remainder of the Cabal, and the galaxy had been damned to ruination.

“You have… killed us all, mon-keigh. The galaxy’s death rests… rests on your shoulders.”

The twisted and corrupted bulk of the cerulean Space Marine’s only response was to dig its heel into the autarch. The sudden painful pressure forced ragged coughs of blood from the crushed Eldar’s chest - an act that brought laughter from the various brutes scattered through the room. He did not have long left to live.

“We shared with you the Acuity, showed you the paths of Fate. But you ignored them, and now existence is doomed.”

“Nothing in this galaxy is certain, Eldar. Your Acuity is reliable, but not perfect.”

This voice was new, but old. New to the collection of armored mon-keigh in the chamber, but old and familiar to the ears of Slau Dha. It was a voice he and the Cabal had spoken to many times, and argued with many more. It was the voice they had entrusted with the galaxy’s fate. Sure enough, the figure walking forward with slow steps wore armored plate that stood out from its subordinates. The blue-green iridescent scales covered every inch that was not adorned with polished silver trim. A long, double-bladed spear was clutched in one fist, while the other moved to remove the hydra-adorned helmet. Once pulled away, the autarch saw the bald head and unremarkable face of treachery.

“Alpharius.”

The words were not spoken by Slau Dha, but hissed out with seething hatred. Everything - everything! - had been entrusted with the Twins centuries ago. From them would come the salvation of the galaxy and the end to the Primordial Annihilator. Yet with each passing moment the tendrils of Chaos spread deeper throughout the galaxy’s existence.

The XXth Primarch walked to stand above the fallen autarch. The previous mon-keigh pinning him down stepped away from Slau Dha, allowing its leader to bend down and rest on a single knee. The Primarch wished to converse, it seemed. To gloat, to revel in his victory today. Pointless. There was no victory, nothing to celebration. Only damnation.

Where one warriors foot had been rested the armored hand of Alpharius. The touch was surprisingly light for such a genetically-modified behemoth. It was not placed there to keep the Eldar pinned - the strength rise and resist had faded from Slau Dha long ago. The hand was there to appraise the wounds, to assess how long he had to live. Alpharius wanted to ensure each and every word of his impending monologue would be heard by Slau Dha.

The aged Eldar choked on contempt more than blood in that moment. Haughty mon-keigh.

“No. My brother is dead by another’s hand. Half a galaxy away, I felt it happen. Do you know the feel of that pain, Eldar? To feel half of your soul removed, taken from you? It is death. When my brother died, I died. I am here, I exist. But I am incomplete without Alpharius.”

“Fine. Omegon, then.”

This brought a single laugh from the Primarch - not so much a chuckle, but a quick exhale through the nose with a grin. The naming distinction apparently mattered little to armored giant anymore. But then, from what Slau Dha remembered of the XXth Legion, labels like names never mattered anyway.

“No. Not anymore. I’m neither. I’m both. I’m no one. I am everyone. I am Alpharius, just as he is, and he is, and he is,” the Primarch corrected, gesturing toward every Legionnaire in the dark room, “we are all Alpharius.”

“We are Alpharius,” came the unison chant of all Legionnaires present.

More coughing, more blood, more minutes slipping away from the dying Eldar. But the pain from internal hemoraging paled to the annoyance of dealing with such haughty mon-keigh. It was unbearable. The hubris of them all weighed unbearably heavy on Slau Dha, but the Alpha Legion always seemed to be the worst among them. The Cabal was wrong to ever trust them.

That misplaced trust saw to it that the Primordial Annihilator had not burnt away like an overeager flame. It continued to smolder, the charred remains of its corruption spreading wider and wider with no indication that the embers would fade. Chaos was winning, and could not be stopped anymore.

“You were… chosen to save the galaxy. You were to see to it that Horus won. This would-”

“Horus was victorious. His talons pierced and seared the flesh of the Emperor, forever darkening the golden light. The corpse of the False Emperor was chained upon the Imperial Palace for all to see. The victory sent those still loyal to the cause fleeing to their Imperium Secundus. Terra fell, and Horus claimed it in our name. By the machinations of the Hydra your outcome was reached.”

“No, mon-keigh! Chaos still lives, and thrives! You failed.”

“How simple do you believe humanity to be? That one warlord could destroy an entire race because he felt guilt? That every last human would fall victim? You underestimated us. Your kind always has. The weaknesses of Horus were never shared by his brothers.”

“I don’t-”

A cerulean fist quickly clenched around Slau Dha’s neck, silencing him. The Primarch, it seemed, no longer wanted interruptions as he articulated his treasonous tale. The constriction of his windpipe forced the autarch to gasp and wheeze, desperate for any air that would fill his collapsing lungs. But the Primarch did not care. He continued his story, each new revelation horrifying Slau Dha more and more.

“Of course you don’t understand. Your predictions were too narrow. Yes, once victorious the Gods withdrew themselves from the Warmaster. And yes, he would have damned us all with his self-destructive guilt. But the others were fit to take up his shed mantle. He commanded our war, but he was not the only general.

“The Night Haunter was all-too-eager to kill the Lupercal when the seed of vindication was planted in his fractured mind. Warm suggestions of spreading the undivided word of Chaos through humanity inspired Lorgar. He took up the spiritual mantle of our Crusade, teaching humanity to embrace the Dark Gods. That the rebellious and faithless Imperium was commanded by Guilliman made Lorgar’s willing ascension even easier. Yes, Horus would no longer lead, but we no longer needed him to. A few whispers from the Hydra’s tongue ensured humanity would not die so easily.”

The Primarch’s grip released and Slau Dha’s head slammed down onto the metal floor. The impact shook stars into his already darkening vision. The edges of his sight were now illuminated with cascading pinpricks of rainbow colors always beyond his eyes’ ability to focus. It helped distract from the pain in his chest, and the wet, ragged coughs that breathing now brought. He had only minutes left to live, but the Primarch waited for the autarch’s coughing fit to end before he continued to speak.

“Those brothers chosen by the Gods needed no machinations from the Legion to continue their conquest. Not that they would listen, anyway. They are puppets of their new Masters. But still they fight our Crusade, slaughtering the dwindling loyalists with each passing decade. The Cyclops and the Wolf continue to fight a truly endless war of attrition that will last eternally. Mortarion is content with slowly spreading his filth wherever his Master wishes. The Phoenician seeks to finish what he started with the Iron Hands, when he’s not preoccupied with feasting on your kind. And Angron, well… it’s not as if he needed any extra motivation.”

More laughter from the various mon-keigh in the room. How could this possibly be amusing to them?! They spoke so casually about endless and perpetuating death. And of their own species! Such sickening, disgusting animals. And for Slau Dha to fall victim by their hands would only bring him eternal shame.

“And while they do run rampant, chasing the rebels here and there, Chaos spreads further into all of humanity. We have embraced it, but it does not consume us. We feed it, and it feeds us. It is not parasitic, but symbiotic. You and this Cabal were foolish to fight it. It is you, and you are it. It exists because the universe does, and vice versa. You have fought your very nature, and have died for it. But we have embraced it, and learned the universal Truth: no matter the outcome, Chaos always wins.”

The sensation in Slau Dha’s delicate limbs was now gone. Soon, his physical life would expire and his soul would escape to the stone embedded in his chest. It would be safe there, free from pursuit from She Who Thirsts, but this vessel was sure to be his eternal tomb. Still, despite any rational instinct, the autarch was filled with a sudden curiosity that had yet to be sated. The motivations of the mon-keigh had never mattered to him before, but now, dying just as the galaxy was, a sudden compulsion enlightened his spirit. Slau Dha had to know, before his body died… he had to know why.

“But why… why come for us? To what goal does… does it serve?”

Alpharius stood once more in that moment, rising like a mountain above the fading Eldar. Ceremoniously, he reached for his serpentine helm and rested it upon his bald head and unremarkable face. Once secure, the eyes flashed bright red then dimmed to a slightly darker glow. The armored beast stared down at the autarch from on high, delicately bringing his spear around and pointing a tip at the broken chest of Slau Dha. The anti-energy field crackled and popped along the blade’s length as Alpharius finally answered.

“My goals are as they’ve always been: my own. It is why I have convinced - with little effort needed - Perturabo to bring the severed head of Rogal Dorn. It is why I have chased you and your Cabal with every moment of my life since I first found myself truly alone in the universe. Dorn wielded the weapon that took him away from me, but you are the ones who killed my brother. Because of your manipulations, your prophecies, he saw his life cut away upon Pluto. And I am incomplete. But I wish to be whole again… the Immaterium is the resting place of all souls. My brother is there, our soul still alive amidst the Warp. If the Warp dies, then so does he. I cannot allow that. I want my brother back. But until I find a way to return him to me, I am content with vengeance.”

“You… you have signed away every living being in the universe to damnation, all that you may revive your dead brother?!”

“Yes. Have you ever heard of anything else so completely… human?”

The Pale Spear pierced the chest of Slau Dha, vaporizing his flesh into oily smoke that wafted away into the vessel’s recyclers. Where once had been the Eldar’s torso was instead a gaping hole, all edges seared and smooth and flawless as the spear’s blade. The dim light in Slau Dha’s eyes faded to nothingness, filling instead the small gemstone now resting on the bridge’s decked floor. The filled soulstone near his spear’s tip did not escape Alpharius’ notice as he spoke to one of his subordinates.

“Send word to the Children. I have a gift for Fulgrim, if he’ll have my audience.”

 

[Warpmiss]

Imperium Novus

 

Ever since the Great Siege five years ago, work had been plentiful in the Administratum. Typically known for its slowness in dealing with all sort of matters, the institution had been forced to speed many processes to keep up to date with current events. There was no longer an Emperor in the throne of Terra but his son, the so appropriately named Warmaster, and all the official documentation had to reflect this as accurately and quickly as possible. To accomplish this, there were many tasks to perform. Since he had taken his new position in the recently redistributed Imperatora Scriptum department, Markus Walkott, could attest to this.

 

Among his main tasks was tracing the proper update of regalia and other symbols. The once respected Imperial Aquila had to be removed from all official documentation, masonry and every other place where it had once been proudly displayed to be replaced by the Eye of Horus. Along with the Aquila, the symbols of the legions that stood with the False Emperor during the war or still refused to be part of the new order also had to be expunged. In their place, either the insignia of the legions loyal to the Warmaster or the new eight-pointed star would have to be present. This last symbol was gaining a lot of traction among the populace although it was sometimes replaced why one of another set of four. At first, Markus had been confused by this until Chaplain Asmodeus had presented an explanation in one of his seminars.

 

Markus still cringed at even thinking about that man, if that word was even applicable anymore. He was one of the Astartes of the Word Bearers Legion. However, he deviated from the human physique further than the average post-human. The Chaplain was not just much taller and broader than a common man but his skull and hands presented alarming deformations in the shape of keratinous horn-like sprouts which made Markus actively avoid imagining what other horrors were hidden under his clothing.

 

It was impossible to forget the first day the Chaplain had walked into the offices of the Administratum. Markus’ supervisor, already sporting the eight-pointed symbol pinned to her chest, had appointed the entire department to assemble in the largest meeting room available. Confused but compelled to comply, everyone had attended worriedly, fearing another restructuring of the department, mass layoffs, or worse. The mutters of discomfort only died down when their supervisor presented their new advisor. Next to the willowy woman stood the imposing figure of the Chaplain who easily towered over everyone in the room even those that had undergone augmentations. At some other time this man may have inspired awe to the populace, instead, the anxiety his presence had created was palpable.

 

Apparently aware of their fears, the newcomer explained the reason behind his inclusion to the Scriptum. It had been decided that his legion, the Word Bearers, would honor their name and aid more directly in the process of adapting society to the new order of the Imperium of Man.

 

“Do not think of my presence here as that of an enforcer. My role is of advisor and consultant. I am here to explain the new symbology and doctrines to the best of my ability so you can diligently apply them in your work.” He seemed to smile warmly. “I apologize if my presence causes any unrest. I understand these are hard times for all of you but as a bearer of the Word I assure you that my only goal is to guide you through these troubled times.”

 

That was something that the Chaplain often did: smile. Moreover, he reveled in teaching, eager to explain every detail. As the name of his legion indicated, he loved preaching. But despite the Astartes efforts, Markus still felt uncomfortable around him. It was not just his inhuman appearance that troubled him but something in the fundamentals of his message seemed utterly wrong.

 

Under the late Emperor, the ideal of the Imperium of Mankind was the complete disbelief in otherworldly deities but the philosophy of the Word Bearer had its base in the complete opposite. Certainly, the Emperor had an air of godliness about him and many, Markus included, had found it impossible not to praise him accordingly. On the other hand, the things behind Asmodeus teachings did not inspire awe in Markus but a profound distress. It was a kind of fear that dated from the most primitive times of mankind. To see his fellow coworkers and citizens so willingly embrace these new teachings made him only see dread in the future of mankind. When he felt the panic overpower him, he would grasp in his hand the holy parchment he always kept in his pocket and recited to himself the words of the Lectitio Divinitatus, finding comfort in the dimming light of the Emperor of Mankind.

 

Tonight had been one of those occasions. As he poured over the thick volumes referring to different trade routes of Ultramar, his job was to decide in which places the old symbols could be kept for historical purposes and which passages were new enough to warrant a change and, in that case, which one was the most appropriate. While doing this, it was impossible for Markus not to think about the rich history and culture of this empire within an empire. Lord Guilliman and his Ultramarines still resisted the Warmaster but it was only a matter of time until they would be broken. Figuratively and literally, as all Markus could think of was the annihilation of cities and countless deaths. He had only witnessed the destructive power of war very briefly during the uprising of the Warmaster but, even then, what he had experienced still shook him to the core. Just trying to imagine that at a larger scale was an appalling concept.

 

Noticing none of his co-workers remained at his side of the office; Markus put his hand in his pocket feeling more comfortable as he touched the familiar piece of paper inside. He allowed himself a short pause before pulling his hand back.

 

He managed to concentrate on his work for a long while until the heard the unexpected sound of footsteps approaching.

 

“Markus, isn’t it?” inquired Chaplain Asmodeous next to him. “I am surprised to see anyone still working at this late hour.”

 

“Good evening, m’lord! I just had to catch up on some paperwork.” he replied flustered pointing at all the documentation sitting on his desk.

 

“Oh, please! There is no need to give me any honorary titles I am not worthy of” smiled the Chaplain and picked one of the dataslates in front of Markus.

 

“But this is some load of work ahead of you. Ultramar! Many information and changes still to come” he said as if talking to himself rather than the man he was addressing. “I was once in there, you know? Lovely place. A shame about how things turned out.”

 

Unsure of what to say, Markus just spoke a nondescript word of assent. It was strange to be alone with the man that had been the source of so much fear for him. For a brief moment, he felt that perhaps he was wrong after all; the Chaplain had always been friendly with everyone and just seemed to enjoy his work.

 

But then, the Chaplain’s smile vanished and his expression became livid. At first, Markus thought he was staring directly at him but he realized his eyes were fixed on his pocket. Specifically, on the paper protruding from it, some of its contents clearly readable to the post-human.

 

A paralyzing terror seized the Administratum worker. For some seconds that seemed like hours, neither of them moved of talked. The Chaplain was the first to break the static scene when he clenched his right hand. Reflexively, Markus flinched expecting to be attacked or being forcibly separated from the aggravating paper. But none of those things happened. Instead, the Chaplain left the dataslate he was holding back on the table. He looked at Markus with what the worker thought was a serious but sad expression.

 

“The words in that paper, they were written by my Primarch a long time ago.”

 

“I-I did not know” muttered Markus.

 

“Do you still believe in the God-Emperor?” Seeing the man did not know how to respond, the Word Bearer didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t” he said softly. “I, too, once thought the Emperor was a God among men. Everything about him inspired us, Word Bearers, to believe so. The Word we bore was that truth and we sought to spread it all over the growing Imperium. But the Emperor himself denied his so obvious godliness.”

 

“But,” Markus managed to utter, “even so, that doesn’t mean He is not-“ he paused, “was not divine.”

 

“No. His actions did” the Chaplain replied sternly. “I was there the day the Emperor shamed our truth, my Primarch and my entire legion. He decided it was better to eradicate an entire world of people that believed in his divinity than let them be part of his Imperium.”

 

The story of the Word Bearer seemed impossible but seeing obvious signs of sadness in an Astartes was a factor that Markus could not overlook.

 

“I will not strike you as he did to us that day.” Asmodeus finally said as he looked at Markus directly in the eye. “It will amount to nothing. But the Emperor is no more. I hope you will find it in yourself to embrace the new truth we bear.”

 

With those last words, the Chaplain walked away in the direction he had originally intended to go, leaving Markus with the paper still in his pocket, its once comforting lines suddenly feeling empty.

 

Also my first time participating in anything like this. I hope I didn't just write a mess.

[Sagentus]

First time trying this, i tried to incorporate my own army to

"Sir, we have arrived" first captain Urmak reported.
"Finally" Garus answered with anticipation in his voice "ready the men"

Within minutes drop pods and ships were manned ready for the assault. Whilst they waited for the comand and with anticipation the for the fight ahead, Urmak looked out the porthole at the frozen and desolate planet bellow. It was immensely different to the once verdant paradise world Urmak remembered it being. Long since had the iron comet collided with the planet changing its climate to the icey desolate world he saw before him. It was nightfall on the dropzone, yet the planets ice covered surface shone brightly, there was no major cities to be seen as the Valhallans lived in hive cities under the surface.

With what felt like an age, a call came over the vox "it was with Angrons orders that we destroy everything thing on this planet, that is still loyal the the dead emperor" Urmak roared along with the other bezerkers in the drop pod "we can not allow them to reinforce Bhaal!" and with that the drop pods and ships were released.

As the drop descended Urmak could feel the hightened anticipation building up in the drop pod, as the butchers nails was readying the bezerkers for battle. The thirst for the upcoming onslaught almost to great to bear.

He peered throught the porthole once more to see flashed of lasfire from both the surface and there ship. He could feel the drop pod speeding up as it broke into the upper atmosphere, it started to shake more violently the faster they went. Then he felt his stomach churn slightly as the landing thrusters were fired up, they were nearly there. The drop pod landed with an almighty crash, nealry pulling the bezerkers out of their harnessess.

"Ready your chainaxes" he roared to his squad "For Angron! For the blood God!"

It was with that the drop pods doors flung open. They were greated by a suprised battalion of valhallens, as the drop pod had crashed through the defences on landing. Without a moments hessitation Urmak and his bezerkers charged the closest squad, chain axes reving and bolt pistols firing. The assault was so quick not one Valhallan got a shot off before Urmak thrust his chain axe through its first victim, taking off his right arm, with the second swing of the axe the victim was headless. With the butchers nails relishing off every blow, it did not take long for the bezerkers to dispatch of the first squad before they turned there attention to the next.

"Take out that gun emplacement on the ridge!" Garus shouted over the vox. Urmak relayed the orders to his bezerkers, as they had slain the last of the second squad. They started to charge towards the emplacement, slaughtering anyone who got in their way. As they charged, one by one, Urmaks bezerkers started to fall. It was a long dangerous/risky charge cutting through the middle of a bettalion and resisting the butchers nails urge to slaughter everything. This gun emplacement was massivley impeeding the world eaters advance and it had to be neutralised.

With each step Urmak grew closer and closer, he was certain he was now the only bezerker left, but that was not going to stop him. He finally reached the gun emplacement and jumped in the trench, chain axe reving ferociously and him roaring "for Angron! For the blood God"

Edited November 24, 2017 by Sagentus

[Carrack]

 

Absent

 

Calebra Hive

 

 

 

 

++ From the audience hall of Felix Valencia-Cabezo, Lord Governor Valencia-Valencia's official cartographer of Calebra Hive, Demi Palace, Level 103. ++

 

 

 

 

"Level -27? I think it's called Absent." - Felix Valencia Cabezo.

 

"Level -27 is called Absent because at some point it and every level below were officially ignored by the Lord Commander. No further attempts were made to take census, enforce law and order, or even perform the most rudimentary of hive services like keeping the streetlights lit. Level -27 became absent from the official record. That's why you won't get any information on it from our office." - Cameron de la Lumina, scribe to the official cartographer of Calebra Hive.

 

 

++ From the lounge of the Resèt Paresseux, den of inequity in Port LeCroix, Level 45. ++

 

“The Obscura from Absent is absent of impurities. It's the source of the fabled Black Obscura of Calebra Hive." - Gav, proprietor of Resèt Paresseux.

 

“I made it down to -27 early this year by climbing an old lift’s service ladder and busting through a chained up hatch. The whole level was pitch dark, not just from burned out streetlights, but no lighted signs or even a glow from a window in sight. It was absent of all light. My torch started flickering. I heard whispering voices in the darkness. I turned tail and booked it back the way I came. I put the chains back in place when I got back through the hatch.” -Morden, underhive delver and dealer in recovered art.

 

"During the war, when General Handerly mobilized the under hive, he got gangers from -1 to -26 to enlist in exchange for amnesty. Not a single underhiver from -27 or below enlisted to fight the Enemy. -27 was absent from the muster, hence the name." - Sergeant Ivander, aged veteran and arms dealer.

 

 

 

Esplanade Market, Port LeCroix, Level 45.

“If you’re from -27, you can turn around and leave, absent from my affections, and I don’t care how much money you got.” -Carolyn, lady of the evening of no particular quality or note.

 

“I’ve brokered transactions worth more money than you will ever see here in Calebra Hive. I’ve bought and sold the entire remaining collection from the Mann estate. I’ve sponsored an expedition to Calebra Hive’s original grand cathedral. I have recovered more artwork from the ruins of this hive than any other dealer in this port, and I’ll tell you this, in all of my experience, there is nothing of worth from level -27. It’s absent of all profit. Unless your interested in obscura...” -Justin Chavis, dealer of antiquities.

 

“Level -27 is absent from the Emperor’s light. It’s as if the Imperium of Man’s border ended at the level above. Certainly the rest of the underhive is a dreadful, sinful place, but Absent is different. It’s stain is far darker than the scum and grime of the rest of the underhive. Mutants walk the streets without concern, as if the profaning their humanity was of no consequence. Blasphemy is uttered from the lips of all, without heed to the malicious power of invoking the names of the dark four. Sorcery isn’t practiced in secret by misanthropic fools, but openly performed by the level’s leaders.

 

Yet unfortunately, it’s not the pervasive sin that marks Absent as the worse level of the underhive, for even before the war, there were levels as dreadful as -27 is today. What is so horrid about Absent is the level’s ignorance. They don’t know that the form of man is sacred. They don’t know that worshiping daemons is foul. They don’t know that witchcraft is abhorrent. For the wretches of Level -27, it’s as if the Emperor didn’t even exist, it’s as if Horus had won. Level -27 is absent of His victory.” -Cameron Gands, lunatic and mendicant preacher.

Edited November 24, 2017 by Carrack

[Kierdale]

Thank you all for your entries in Inspirational Friday 2017: If Horus had won. We had a good range of stories!

Urriak gave us From Ice and Iron, detailing the home system of the Imperial Fists (I don’t know how much of this fluff is canon but it was very good). I liked the `Frozen Cage` in this timeline, mirroring to some degree the Iron Cage of the normal timeline. The clash of old rivals turned foes: the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists. And an interesting turn of events – and Primarch – at the end. If that’s your first attempt at writing, Urriak, you have quite a talent. I hope you’ll give us more in the future.

The Faithful Son was MaliGn’s entry, in which a veteran Word Bearer scorned the very notion of Horus having won. Perhaps this marine understands Chaos better than Horus did? Or he underestimates the Favoured Son? We’ll never know.

The Last was my entry for this theme. I took us an unspecified number of millennia past the Horus Heresy. Chaos had burned itself out, particularly in the case of Khorne, Nurgle and Tzeentch, with the conquest of Terra and the destruction of Mankind. The Eldar had risen once again, though not quite in the way they are in the normal timeline. I realized that Nurgle losing power would likely mean that Isha could escape: the Eldar would have a goddess of life, rather than an avatar of death. And in this timeline the priesthood (equivalent to warlocks and farseers) had taken a lesson from the near-forgotten Imperium and kept the masses all but ignorant of Chaos. The priest in the story, charged with exterminating Humanity wherever they might find it, even slays their comrades to terminate what they believe to the be last human. Or is it just the last Sensei? Either way, a god is inadvertently born (without a race to worship it?).

Scourged’s entry, Acuity reunited the Alpha Legion – now under Omegon – with the Cabal. I thoroughly enjoyed this piece and really liked Omegon’s motivation. What indeed could be any more human? The mention of the other legions and their doings was a nice background addition.

I’m very glad that Warpmiss didn’t give up on her piece, Imperium Novus. It was good to see things from the point of view of a mortal, a cog in the wheel, still turning but with someone else turning the handle. To see how the administration of the turned Imperium would steadily change (no doubt to greater madness in the years to come). I liked that the story mentioned the Lectitio Divinitatus as it’s one of my favourite pieces of fluff about the Emperor, Lorgar and the Word Bearers.

Sagentus – also another first-time entry (give us more!) – gave us a tale of World Eaters assaulting Valhalla in the wake of Terra’s fall. It was short but captured the bloodthirst of the berserkers very well. A little more about the changed timeline would have made it stand out more, I feel.

Absent was Carrack’s piece, taking us once more to Calebra Hive and yet another twist on the theme. The timeline hadn’t changed at all, but for those below a certain level of the hive, life existed – to some twisted extent – as if Horus had been victorious, and Chaos reigned. That was a very interesting point, that even in the 41st millennium, likely there are areas where things have not changed, where Chaos was still prevalent, since the Heresy.

I hereby close that topic but if anyone has more stories on that theme, at any time, please post them here with a suitable title.

And here begins our twenty-second challenge of Inspirational Friday 2017:

Exalted Champions

Champions of Chaos vying for power, rewards and the recognition of the Chaos Lords and gods they serve (and indeed no doubt the position of the former!), these potent warriors inspire their brethren and reap rewards from their patrons (not to mention the spoils of war). Brave warriors seeking out glory upon the battlefield. Commanders of fellow astartes. Corrupt madmen.

Tell us this time a tale of an exalted champion. Photos welcome too

IF2017: Exalted Champion runs until the 8th of December.

Let us be inspired.

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge: Warsmith Aznable.

The winner of IF2017: Exalted Champion shall claim the Octed amulet:

[Trevak Dal]

I knew I wasn't going to make the deadline, but now after reading your story Kierdale I'm not sure I want to continue as mine has a similar theme (Tau centric though, in what would be m50k) as they discover the ruins of the various human worlds, are warned off by Eldar (who the Tau Empire have a mutual alliance with along with several other xenos races).

 

There are no humans in my story. At all, spoilers-the Cabal's plan worked, humanity is dead'd. The Tyranids attacked but were repelled and deterred. All in all its just like it says in the tag line "humanity will not be missed" and life goes on in the Milky Way.

 

It centers around an Earthcaste archeology mission, who followed a series of clues back to the Human Home Sept (Sol).

Edited November 25, 2017 by Trevak Dal

[Kierdale]

Trevak, please do write it up. I’d love to read it :tu:

[Urriak Urruk]

Sorry, does someone get picked as a winner of each challenge? I'm curious who won the last one.

[Kierdale]

Urriak, as Warsmtih Aznable won IF: Chaos vs. Imperial Guard, he’ll pronounce judgment on IF: If Horus won... at some point before the current challenge closes :)

[Warsmith Aznable]

I am sorry for the delay; it's been a busy weekend!

 

I'll cut to the chase: MaliGn's "The Faithful Son" is the winner I choose.

 

What I like about it is that it capture's the arrogance of the zealot perfectly. I can totally see a Word Bearer thinking and saying exactly these things with utter and unironic sincerity. The story is simple, to the point, convincing, and well executed.

 

It's always hard to choose, but it is an honour to bear the responsibility. Thank you all; I enjoyed reading everyone's work.

[Warpmiss]

Congratulations, MaliGn!! Enjoy the amulet of the Gods!

 

As for the new challenge, I feel like I should write something about my IW boys since I want to write some fluff for them anyway but I kinda want to draw something instead! Not sure if I'd be able to do either of those things, though.

[MaliGn]

Truly humbled to win this one, I know that there was an expectation for this to be more of an alternate history theme, but I had a flash of inspiration and ran with it. I'm glad that it seems to have come across more or less as I intended, one of my favourite parts of the hobby was the short halfpage to a page stories that used to be all through white dwarf and the codexes, rulebooks etc, often written by those that have now become the Black Library authors. These excerpts would not always feature a full story but all would hint at the bigger picture, I miss this aspect a bit and have often found a worthy replacement in this series of threads.

 

It was certainly in this vein that I tried to write my entry, an incomplete meeting between an unknown listener and the protagonist that aims to leave more unsaid than said.

 

I'm very pleased that this seems to have worked and my thanks again. I look forward to reading the entries I will be judging.

[Macbeefin]

I really enjoyed all of the If Horus had won stories, so I was inspired to try my hand at a story about an Exalted Champion. Hope you guys enjoy. 

 

Unworthy

 

Hidden Content

 Once, when times were simpler, all that Raxus heard in his dreams were the screams of the spikes twisting in his brain. He used to resent that, he remembered: even the most rabid sons of Angron longed for a few hours of respite at night. How things change, he thought, lying in his chambers, longing for the burning noise of the Butcher’s Nails to keep him company once more.

 

These days, a different wailing sung in his head. A choir of screaming enemies, cheering brothers, and adoring cultists. It was the Blood God’s hymn, a verse that Raxus heard every day as he led his berserkers into the bloody throng of combat. It was the roar of his chain-axe, the clacking of his bolt pistol and the squelching of power armour into flesh. Every day, Raxus led his horde in worship, and at the end of every day, when Raxus stood atop some conquered fortress or slain behemoth, they worshipped him in equal fervour, chanting his name: “Rax-us! Rax-us! Rax-us!”

 

In a roar of rage Raxus sprung from his cot and stormed from his quarters, startling some cultists nearby. Raxus set off towards them – violence was the only way he could get the taunting echoes out of his head.

 

Just as he was within an arm’s reach of one, Raxus suddenly stopped, catching something in the corner of his eye. A lone berserker was watching on. There appeared to be nothing remarkable about this berserker – Raxus had never noticed him before – yet even in the darkness of the night, the blessings of Khorne were evident upon him. A ring of horns formed a crown around the berserker’s head, and Raxus could see the fleshy fusion of the traitor’s arm with his chainsword.

 

A new fury took a hold of him, one far more personal than his previously unfocused anger. The berserker, sensing what was about to happen, charged at Raxus, his chainsword-arm buzzing through the air. Raxus dodged with a swift sidestep, the chainsword narrowly missing his bare chest. With a sweep of his legs, Raxus brought the berserker to the floor, and promptly dropped his knees into the berserker’s torso. Without skipping a beat, Raxus’ fists began to mercilessly pummel the berserker’s face, blood streaming from his knuckles as he did so.

 

How pathetic, Raxus spat. This berserker was nothing compared to him. He was a worthless, waste of gene-seed hardly better than those snivelling cultists Raxus had chased off earlier. He had accomplished nothing, not even the recognition of Raxus, his master. And yet, as Raxus’ eyes were drawn back to the writhing flesh joining his arm with his weapon, Raxus couldn’t help but feel that this anonymous berserker had achieved more than he ever would.

 

As Raxus continued to crush the berserker’s skull under his fists, other members of his horde circled around to watch. Their cries rung in his ears as he continued to punch the now dead warrior.

 

“Rax-us! Rax-us! Rax-us!”

[Scourged]

A less-than-serious entry this time around. While ruminating on idea for this week, something struck me within the descriptions of the Exalted Champion - how they constantly fight for the attention of their patrons just for the chance to be noticed and rewarded. Enjoy my thinly-veiled silliness, friends.

 

Hidden Content

Within the Pit

For days and days the spectacle raged in the pit. Warrior against warrior ruthlessly cutting the other down two further dwindle the numbers. All in the name of Sa’enp’aii, Daemon Prince of the realm, the Ossiferous King, and servant of Khorne. And so it was here that K’hai - Champion of the Ossiferean Ravagers, Exalted among Bloodletters, Slayer of Tsunda Rei, the Skull Reaper -  continuously whet his blades and armor with blood of human and xenos and whatever filth crossed his path.

His breath was still heaving in ragged gasps from the previous challenge. It had been a battle royale, K’hai pitted against seven other vying - unworthy that they were - champions. Each of them, like the scores more already dead or those waiting yet to fight, were all competing to gain the blessing and boon of Sa’enp’aii. Each had come to the Charnel Pits to prove that they would be the one to earn The Ossiferous King’s approving notice, that they would rise in the ranks of his growing daemonhost. But K’hai could not, and did not let them win.

The other seven struck at each other with wild frenzy and abandon, screaming their bloodlust and murderous intent. Ignorant whelps. They were not champions, not like K’hai. K’hai knew that the hemorrhaging rage that burns from Khorne’s might must be controlled, not let control you. The Boiling of the Blood was a tool, not a crutch. And K’hai wielded that tool better than all those to yet appear in the pit. He severed each of their heads with his axe or his sword, denying them even a single victory over each other. All glory was to K’hai.

Yet even as the battle ended supremely in K’hai’s favor, Sa’enp’aii took no notice. No time for acknowledgement or rest was given before the gates opened and flooded the Charnel Pit with a vast swarm of beasts. They had no unifying form, no repeated features, nothing at all that bonded them as a unified whole save for their ravenous hunger for whatever prey waited in the pit. The mutant rabble surged at K’hai, eager to fell him and taste his flesh.

They could try.

Thumbing the activation studs on his power weapons once more, K’hai launched himself into the stampeding horde, too impatient to let them crash upon him where he once stood. The Boiling of the Blood was rich in his double hearts once again, and he let it power his arms as they cut, slashed, tore, ripped, sliced, and gouged their weapons through the undulating mass of flesh before him. His legs moved his body away from every grasping hand or pseudopod, ducking from each swing of a club or claw. Ducking and weaving, striking and slicing, K’hai was whittling down the insatiable horde, bringing raucous cheers from the crowd as blood sprayed upon them all.

In an hour’s time, the current round had concluded to rapturous fanfare from the tainted crowd of reverent worshipers and daemonic hosts. It was a glorious slaughter once again, with only K’hai left standing live within the pit. All praised his name, chanting it, save for one among the crowd. The Daemon Prince seemed unamused by the triumphs within the pit, paying little to no heed to the slaughter wreaked by K’hai. The games were not yet done, and K’hai had not yet proven himself best of all, but his impatience was finally boiling over.

How many must he destroyed to gain the boons of his patron? How many surging legions of mortals must fall to his blades and hands to have his glories noticed by the Prince? How many skulls must he collect, how much blood must he spill, how much war must he wage?! Standing here, in the pit, ankle-deep in spilled viscera and dismembered limbs, K’hai could take it no longer. Throwing down his weapons, casting aside his horned helm, he screamed into the vast stadium above:

“Notice me, Sa’enp’aii!”

 

[Kierdale]

Thank you for your entries in Inspirational Friday 2017: Exalted Champion.

Only two, but good ones (for different reasons ).

Macbeefin gave us Unworthy, with Raxus the exalted champion of Khorne. While once he had been constantly tortured by the Butcher’s Nails, longing for release, he now hungers for them, seeking combat wherever he can in order to awaken them once more.

Thinly veiled indeed! Kouhai? Senpai? Tsundere? Scourged, you can’t sneak these past someone who lives in Japan. I found it very amusing and I’m sure we could all see the punchline coming from a mile away (and still enjoyed it).

I did get started on a piece for this topic myself but it started going down a different path – though a good path – so I’m going to keep working on that for a possible future IF theme (namely `Fallen Hero`. ‘t would be unfair if I didn’t let others know that its coming too).

I hereby close that topic but if anyone has more stories on that theme, at any time, please post them here with a suitable title.

And here begins our twenty-third (and final) challenge of Inspirational Friday 2017:

The Black Legion

Formed from the remains of the XVI Legion: the Sons of Horus (and before that, the Luna Wolves), the Black Legion were so named by their new leader, Ezekyle Abaddon.

The Black Legion operates as countless warbands, raiding the Imperium at the whim of their lords and commanders, uniting as one unstoppable force under the banner of Abaddon when he begins his Black Crusades.

And the Legion does not only comprise the scions of the warmaster, for myriad warbands now wear the black, having sworn loyalty to the Legion seeking power, vengeance...or forced to do so by the Legion itself.

Unlike many warbands and former legions, the Black Legion includes devotees of all the Chaos deities (and indeed those who swear no allegiance to any deity).

The Khornate Hounds of Abaddon, the Slaaneshi Children of Torment, the Tzeentchian Sons of the Cyclops, the Nurgle-worshipping Bringers of Decay, the forsaken Oath-Broken and the possessed Tormented. There are even former members of loyalist legions and chapters, such as the Lost Lion.

Tell us this time a tale of the Black Legion, be they the protagonists or antagonists.

IF2017: Black Legion runs until the 5th of January. With the festive season being busy, you’ve got almost a month!

Let us be inspired.

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge: MaliGn.

The winner of IF2017: Black Legion shall claim the Eye of Horus amulet:

[MaliGn]

Tricky to choose here, but I have picked a winner, mainly because I felt it captured the bloodthirater ruthlessness of a khornate champion, Macbeefin's story Unworthy takes the Octed this week.

[Macbeefin]

Thanks for reading guys. I've always found it especially cruel how it seems some of the most infamous Chaos champions seem to rarely be granted Daemonhood  (Khârn, Abaddon etc), and yet there are plenty of Daemon Princes around who are far less prolific and yet have somehow been gifted immortality by the gods! I tried to capture how (an already pretty angry) berserker champion might feel about this - his supporters idolise him, and his prowess is unmatched, yet the only approval he desires, from Khorne, is instead given to some berserker Raxus easily defeats. The gods are as unknowable as they are fickle!

 

Shout outs to Scourged as well... the whole thing flew over my head until I read the last line haha. Had a good laugh after that.

[Blackcadian]

From Ice and Iron

 

This is my first attempt at something like this, don't give me too much flak! I got to expand on the murky fluff of Dorn's homeworld and try and weave a redemption in there if all the Primarchs are supposed to eventually turn on Horus.

 

EDIT: Fixed a typo.

Well done Urriak - I think this may well be the first piece of Iron Warrior fluff that I actually like! There’s some emotion in it, unlike in say Storm of Iron. As I said, well done!

[Kierdale]

The IF2018 thread is up and I’m allowing two more weeks for the Black Legion topic. If the festive season was as busy for you as it was for me, no writing got done. :D

[Warpmiss]

Wow, thanks for that, Kierdale! I had an idea for the Black Legion topic but didn't get around to writing it. I'll be taking this second chance!