There are no words to describe my joy.

Always

all the blood has flown to my penis
..... no homo

Fantastic. Here we go. Let me just make sure I don't have any words in the selected passages that are on the new ban list.

4-097-001-M42
After a good night’s sleep, Leman Russ felt like a new man. The Wolf Father had taken the opportunity to go for a stroll on the roof of the Fang, where the laser cupola arrays stood vigilant for the enemies of the Space Wolves, the Inquisition, or both. Russ had found a few empty food wrappers and even some contraband porno slates in the drifts when he arrived; clearly this was someone else’s favorite hangout too.
He stood on the edge of the Fang, watching the snow drift from the roof down the edge of the mountain, and reveled in the freezing wind on his bare face. He was home. After too many thousands of years, endlessly fighting his evil, sorcerous brothers Lorgar and Magnus, he was home.
The tears in his eyes were not from the wind chill.
A sudden scuffling noise behind him alerted him to the presence of others. Russ quickly stepped behind a narrow chimney and listened.
“Russ! Russ himself! Can you believe it?” one surprisingly young voice asked.
“I know! I half-expected old man Throlga to pitch a bitch when he saw him,” another said excitedly.
“Of course, half the Rune Priests are convinced this means the Wolf Time is here, and the end has come,” one said, much closer.
“Oh, don’t be a stick, they’re never right,” the first said derisively.
“They successfully predicted which of us would survive the Cup of the Wulfen, brother,” the second said.
“You should listen to the Rune Priests, my sons,” Russ said, stepping around the chimney and leaning on it casually. Three Blood Claws stood stupefied, watching agape. “They’re even better at eavesdropping than I am.”

The Claws recovered quickly. “My Lord Russ, our apologies. We did not mean to intrude,” the first said, kneeling. The others followed suit, dropping in reverence.

Russ turned his back on them and stared out at the glacier field. “Lads, the view up here stretches for a very great distance. Do you come up here to look at it, in awe and wonder…to scout out potential enemies…or to find solitude?”
“Uh...” none of the men answered, and Russ closed his eyes in frustration.
“Do not think of the answer I want, give me the answer you have.”
“My Lord…for solitude. It is peaceful up here,” the second said.
“Indeed. See those basalt pillars over there?” Russ asked, pointing at a very distant spike of grey rock on the far-off plateaus of the mountain range.
The Claws hesitantly stood and walked over to Russ, staring out at where he was pointing. “I do, my Lord.”
“Good. Look upon it now, and listen.” Russ crossed his arms. “Ten thousand years ago, a palace stood there. It was a grand thing, by the standards of our forefathers. Four levels, a well, two fields under a shelter to keep out the ice storms, a fence of metal – metal! – for the wolf pens. I was a king. A god. I ruled this world, or at least all I could reach on foot.” He turned and skewered the young men with a cold glare. “And I was brought low. My father came to me dressed as a merchant, and challenged me.”

“He challenged me to a battle of feasting and drinking. Naturally, I won without effort. I was quite proud of myself.” Russ cracked a thin smile at the memory. The Blood Claws looked at each other askance. “I was so boastful, so full of arrogance. My father, the Emperor, then called me a glutton and a drunk. He called me shallow and vainglorious. I called him a bitch.”
“You called the All Father a bitch?” one of the Claws asked, completely astounded.
“Yep, sure did. So, he put on a metal glove and smacked me so hard my ears rang. Well, that was THAT. I dragged his ass out to the proving ring and we beat the shit out of each other for…oh, twelve hours or so? Finally, he got me with a cheap shot. Ran a charge through that glove of his and put me in a coma. When I woke up, he had shed his disguise. He was standing there, radiating his true power. He had held back the whole time, letting me wear myself out.” Russ grimaced. “So, when I woke up, I decided that this guy probably had his shit together better than I did, and swore fealty to him.”

“If I may, sir, why did that change your mind?” one of the Claws asked, completely confused.
Russ stared at him for a long moment, before smiling faintly. “Why did I decide to follow the Emperor? Isn’t it obvious? The man held back and let me win a few challenges, let me think I had a chance of beating him fair and square. That’s why the Rune Priests let Initiates and Short Fangs die in the initiation. It’s one thing to mold a man into a killer, to make him a soldier. It’s quite another to make a soldier into a Space Marine.” He took a step forward and stared at the Blood Claws, levity gone from him completely. “There’s no room for doubt, weakness, or hesitation in my pack, Blood Claws. The Emperor beat the pride out of me. The Rune Priests let Initiates die because it shows you your own, inevitable fate, should you let pride replace common sense.”
“So what sin of pride did you commit, my Lord Father? All you did was challenge someone prideful enough to challenge you first,” one of the Claws observed. Russ nodded.
“I did. His challenge to me was grounded in the certainty that I was who he knew me to be: his son. He knew what I had in me, what I could do. I thought his challenges amusing, not something I should take seriously. I think, in hindsight, that if I had thrown everything I had at him from the get-go, challenged him to battle right away, instead of fucking around with food and drink, he would have taken it easy on me. Tell me, how many Initiates and Short Fangs died in your batch because they let their newfound strength cloud their judgment?”
“Four,” one said.
Russ nodded slowly. “You lost four brothers. I lost twelve brothers, and a kingdom. Reflect on that.”

9-098-001-M42
Vulkan tapped a fist on the hololith display to conceal his anger. He wanted to punch clean through it.
Apparently, Wilcox had been wrong about the top speed of the Tau frigate. The damn thing had been riding their ass since they left the moon, and had been gaining on them even with Vulkan’s and Ir’Shal’s modifications. Ir’Shal and He’Stan were desperately readying the ship for battle, but it wasn’t enough. The frigate and raiders trailing it would be upon them in under an hour. They needed two to escape.
Vulkan had spent his time outfitting his Terminator with the Unbound Flame. The suit was now as powerful as human science could make it, barring a few Grey Knight trinkets.
Lieutenant Commander Wilcox stood and saluted when Vulkan entered the bridge, but Vulkan hadn’t noticed. He had made straight for the holo display, staring at the Tau blip as it caught up with the Swift, which was infuriatingly incapable of living up to its name.
Worst of all, Ir’Shal had informed him mere minutes before that the Warp engine was operational and ready for deployment.

Wilcox walked over to where the Primarch stood and stared into the hololith as well. “Lord Vulkan, if I may?”
“Speak,” Vulkan said.
“We could give the frigate one hell of a pounding if we had to, sir. They won’t take us without a fight, if it comes to it.”
“They’re not looking to destroy us, Commander, they’re looking to board us,” Vulkan said angrily. “We were within range of their prow guns when we were leaving orbit. They didn’t fire because the alien was aboard. They’re trying to retake him.”
“And since the first thing they’ll be able to hit is the engines…”
“They may as well capture the rest of us when they get a chance, yes,” Vulkan growled.
“Well…sir, we may not have to destroy them to elude them,” Wilcox said.
Vulkan peered down at the Naval officer, his curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”
“We do have a teleportorium aboard. We could teleport a warhead aboard their ship if we get their shields down,” Wilcox said.
“Or something even more destructive,” Vulkan said, as Wilcox’s statement kicked off a new idea.
“Sir?”
“Me.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Ir’Shal said, staring at Vulkan as he re-donned his armor.
“Granted.”
“You’re frakking crazy.”
“Granted.”
“Sir, we have NO IDEA what the layout of the enemy ship is. For all we know, we could teleport you into a solid wall.”
“Also true, but consider,” Vulkan said, as a pair of armor servitor clipped the vambraces of his armor into place. “They have to have a hangar somewhere. And we know my teleport homer works from the surface of a planet to orbit. So there’s no reason to think it wouldn’t work here.”
“And yet, sir, you will be alone. It nearly damned He’Stan to teleport outside of Terminator armor, and it was one-way. Teleporting you three times in one day-”
“After ten thousand years in the Warp, brother, nothing in a careful teleportation worries me,” Vulkan snapped. “Now return to the bridge and remove the safeties of all torpedo weapons. When I give the signal, bring their shields down and make for the Oort cloud. When you reach the point where you can jump out, teleport me to safety and jump.”
Ir’Shal stared at Vulkan, struggling to find words. None came. “Aye, sir. May the Emperor’s grace be with you.”
“I’d settle for his raw firepower,” Vulkan muttered.

“Shas’Vre, the Imperial destroyer is very rapidly decelerating; their torpedo volleys have drained our forward shields to minimum,” one of the bridge officers called out. The ship’s commander leaned forward in his seat and squeezed the armrests.
“All batteries, fire for effect on my mark, target the Warp drive. We will recover Shas’O Fap.”
“Acknowledged, Shas’Vre,” the Gunnery Officer said, starting in on the targeting computer. The ship’s Shas’Vre smirked.
“I don’t know what Fap was thinking when he followed you, Imperial, but we’ll get him back.”
“Really?” a horrifyingly deep voice asked. The Shas’Vre started and tried to rise, but-
A lancing pain in his chest halted his rise. The Shas’Vre looked down in stupefied astonishment to see a blood-drenched spike erupt from his torso. He looked at it dumbly before it glowed an acrid blue, and then there was agony, darkness, what-
The Gunnery Officer scrambled for his sidearm, leveled it at the intruder, but the leviathan raised one empty hand, his fingers twitched, the world was burning-
A pair of security officers at the back of the bridge leveled their pulse carbines and fired, but they may as well have been spitting at the giant, because their shots vanished in his scaled cloak; he withdrew the spike from the back of the Shas’Vre’s chair and pointed it at the two men, and there was screaming, the sound of a million daemons, metal shearing, and the end of the world-
“Counter-boarders to the bridge! Counter-boarders to the bridge!” the comms operator screamed, vaulting his console for cover, but the monster wasn’t done; it leveled its arms and blue flame leaped forth-

Vulkan lowered his arms and surveyed his devastated surroundings. Flames were eating away merrily at bodies and computers around the bridge, and the chair in front of him was a carbonized wreck. The sound of bridge activity had died away to nothing. He nodded. A good day’s work, unfinished.
“Swift, this is Drake. The bridge is secured. Cease fire, all batteries, and divert all power to engines, teleporter capacitors, and shields. I will be along presently.”
“Drake, Swift here, acknowledged. Well done, my Lord. According to our sensors, there is a large contingent of Fire Warriors, including a Crisis unit, approaching your position in a cargo lift on your deck. You’ll have to move quickly to evade them.”
“And if I wanted to greet them?” Vulkan asked, walking off the bridge.
“You would continue down this corridor as far as you could, until you encountered two large, pressed-steel doors set into the bulkhead with a control panel next to them, and wait about eighteen seconds, my Lord.”
Vulkan sprinted down the corridor, as best he could in Terminator armor, the Mantle billowing behind him. “On it. It will feel good to kill something that doesn’t respawn.” He skidded to a halt at the end of the corridor and primed the Song of Entropy.
“Twelve seconds…four seconds…” the Swift’s comm officer read aloud.
The door sprang open, and a group of Fire Warriors within started to fan out, before realizing that the threat was right there in front of them. Vulkan was more prepared, engaging the Song. Instantly, the nearest few Fire Warriors flew apart at the seams, casting the inside of the lifts blue with their cobalt blood.

A Crisis suit shouldered its way past the carnage and opened up with its pulse gatling, but it was too close in for anything but a spray of fire, no room for precision, and Vulkan sidestepped its clumsy attack to drive the Ballista into his neck.
The last few Fire Warriors had more sense, diving out of the lift and to the ground, firing from the floor. Vulkan incinerated one with the Gauntlet, before unclasping the Spear and turning to the other, sweeping it through the unfortunate alien.
“Lord Vulkan, all contacts in the lift neutralized. Are you injured?” the Swift comms officer asked.
“My armor is singed at the left knee joint, but operational,” Vulkan said, checking his HUD. “The Unbound Flame is undamaged and functioning properly.”
“The lift you are facing can reach the deck with the shield generators, we believe, but they will have locked it down,” the officer reported, no doubt glancing at an intelligence report on the Tau starships.
“Not a problem,” Vulkan said, lifting the severed arm of the Fire tem leader and pressing it against the panel in the lift. The doors slid shut and the lift cage began its descent. “I have a volunteer here.”
“…Aye, sir. The lowest level is your destination.”
“Acknowledged, I’m on my way.”
“May I make a recommendation, sir?
“Affirmative,” Vulkan said, eyeing the hologram of the elevator shaft to observe his progress.

“Stop one deck early and blow your way down, through the deck plating. I can tell you approximately where the security teams are massing, and if you use explosives to blast through the deck above them, you’ll kill most without a fight.”
“Wise advice. I’m getting out in four decks. I will have to improvise on the weapons.” Vulkan hit the button for the deck above his destination. “Any crew on this deck?”
“Many. Mostly Air Caste engineers and crew, by precedent.”
The doors slid open silently, and their single startled guard was quickly dispatched. A few crewers in the distance saw the commotion and ran for cover, though a few brave souls drew service sidearms and fired on Vulkan as he advanced. Vulkan triggered the flamer, sending gouts of flame down the corridors at his attackers, and most scampered back into cover. Vulkan’s HUD suddenly lit up with a data burst from the Swift, highlighting optimal placement of the breeching charge, if he could find one.
Vulkan glanced around the corridor, noting it to be mostly crew quarters and a few equipment lockers, though one door looked promising, marked as it was with a pictorial fire. Vulkan walked over to the door and pried it open, smiling at the bounty beyond: a rack of compressed oxygen tanks and a welding frame.

Vulkan wasted no time, conscious that the entire crew of the ship was probably on their way to reinforce the defenders around the vital systems. He grabbed the welding frame and two oxygen tanks and dropped them on the decking above the Tau ambush, then unceremoniously stabbed the decking with the Spear, carving a hole around them. They dropped down amongst the Tau warriors below, scattering with a horrendous crash. Vukan aimed down the hole and hosed down the pile of welding kit with the Gauntlet, igniting the welding propellant. The explosion cast a wall of oxygenated flames over the densely packed group of defenders, killing most in seconds. Vulkan followed the trail of fire down, landing heavily on the scorched deck plating, and casting about with the Spear.
A pair of Fire Warriors setting up a portable barricade at the entrance to the shield generator room dropped their burden and opened fire, scattering pulse rifle shots over Vulkan’s armor. Vulkan took one round across the helmet and snarled, his attention dragged away. A quick assessment of the threat revealed that they were too far away for even the enhanced Gauntlet to reach, so he dipped his hand into a pocket and yanked out a frag grenade, primed it, and tossed. The two Fire Warriors ducked back behind a lowering bulkhead into the shield generator room, and the grenade detonated harmlessly against the metal sheet. Vulkan polished off the last standing Fire Warrior at his feet and charged at the metal wall, slamming into it like an autocannon round. The blast wall buckled and bet at the site of impact. Vulkan snarled and drew back, slicing through the metal with the Spear, carving a line across it above his head. He drew another line just in from the walls, weakening the metal, then reared back and slammed in again, barreling through.

The shield technicians and the Fire Warrior guards stared at the monster that had just demolished their last defense in shock, then reacted, opening fire on Vulkan from all around the room. Some clung to catwalks in the multideck room, firing down from above, while the closer ones scrambled for cover and others yet ran for the exit, trying to make it past Vulkan on his way in.
Vulkan, however, wasn’t interested in merely trading fire with the crew. Instantly his eyes were drawn to the generator itself, a blue, disturbingly organic-looking machine in the center of the room, with a single, massive power conduit running into it from the ceiling. The machine was surrounded by a serpent’s nest of smaller cables. Vulkan didn’t take the time to be deliberate, merely charging through the center of the room, hosing down anyone who got close enough with the Gauntlet, keeping a wary eye on the fuel counter.
A sharp shriek of ion jets suddenly split the noise of battle. Vulkan looked up to see a pair of large Crisis Suits drop from the ceiling, landing between him and his objective. One sported a pair of pulse gatlings, but the other was different: it had a brace of huge rail cannons on its back, and was clamping its feet onto the ground for stability as soon as it landed.
Cannons that size could threaten even a Terminator. Vulkan changed course, running behind the nearest console, then slamming his hands down on its sides to halt his momentum and leaping over it, just as the larger Suit discharged its cannons into the terminal and blasted it apart. Vulkan tossed a krak grenade from his belt over to where the Crisis Suits stood, and the one with the gatling pulsed his jets, lifting several meters off the ground and backwards, nearer to the generator.

The other did not manage to disengage his foot locks in time and exploded, casting bits of himself and his machine over the room. The gatling one suddenly flared his jets again and launched forward, landing atop one of the catwalks overhead, raining fire down on Vulkan.
But now Vulkan’s path was clear.
The Salamander Primarch slung the spear and leaped, his power-armor enhanced muscles propelling him almost a meter upwards, and he triggered the Song of Entropy. The wave of sonic destruction rippled forth, washing over the metal of the catwalk and rending it. The Crisis suit tumbled off, the pilot desperately firing the jets, but too late. Vulkan landed heavily and extended the Thunder Ballista, impaling the Crisis Suit neatly in the middle. The pilot’s scream of horror and agony ended suddenly as Vulkan discharged the Ballista, lighting the suit on fire and electrifying it. With a heave, Vulkan tossed it into the huge generator and triggered both of his ranged weapons, hosing down the massive generator with sound and flame.
Gouts of electric sparks erupted from the power conduit as a blast from the Song shredded it, and the generator shuddered, shutting down under the relentless attack. Vulkan didn’t hesitate a moment longer, reopening his comm. “Swift, Drake here, lift lift lift!” The world outside his armor bent and twisted, as Vulkan crossed the tiny distance to the destroyer in the Warp, and landed on the deck of the hangar, where Tu’Shan was waiting expectantly.
“My Lord?” he asked, eyeing the battle damage to the suit.
“Mission accomplished,” Vulkan said shortly. “Swift, jump us out of here!”

“And the prisoner?” Wilcox asked, as the sound of the Warp drive filtered through the ship, and reality took a break outside the Gellar Field.
Vulkan looked down at the hole the Crisis Suit had punched clean through his armor when firing from the catwalk, and at the clotting blood it had drawn. “He can walk home.”
“Affirmative,” Wilcox said grimly.
Fap sat against the wall of his cell, fuming. They had jumped. His ships had failed to rescue him, and now he would be a ‘guest’ of these savage apes’ Inquisition? He resolved to die before he let that happen.
At that moment, the guard outside his cell stirred, listening to the feed in his helmet. He nodded and murmured something into his vox, then chuckled. He turned to face the Tau prisoner. “All right, ‘sir,’ you can go.” Fap blinked.
“Go?”
“Yes, we’re done in this system. You’re free to leave,” the guard said, opening the cell door.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Fap said, bemused. “Perhaps you Imperials understand something of compassion after all.”
“Really?” the guard asked lightly, suddenly lashing out with the butt of his rifle. The stock slammed into Fap’s jaw, knocking him cold.

Fap stirred against the cold metal of the room, his mind reeling. The Imperial trash had DARED to hit him? He would show them…where was he?
Fap slowly stood, taking in his surroundings. He was enclosed between two massive metal doors, with warning symbols scrawled on them in the human tongue. He looked at them, bewildered. “Where the hell am I?” he asked under his breath.
Actually, that was more or less an accurate appraisal. With no warning at all, one of the doors suddenly lifted into the ceiling, and the air rushed out of the room, sucking Fap with it. Fap flailed, losing his footing, sucked out of the ship…into the Warp. For an instant, the ship flickered by, then he was out of the Gellar field, in the raw stuff of the Warp itself. Something huge and sinuous slithered around him, grasping him by the waist, and Fap screamed. A voice, more terrible and arousing than any he had ever felt, whispered in his ears. “Ooooh…look at that arm. My goodness, I can put that to use…”
“GET AWAY FROM ME, DAEMON!” Fap squealed, struggling against the thing’s sensuous touch.
“Are you sure you want that?” it asked, giggling coquettishly.
“Well…no, actually…” Fap’s voice trailed off, as an impossible pleasure floated through him.
“Good…we’re going to have so very much fun together…” the creature giggled, staring into Fap’s eyes…and suddenly there was nothing left of Shas’O Kes’Y Fap’Tau.

“So, may I ask you something, Emperor?” Isha said, sitting in her usual place at the conference table. Most of the High Lords were absent today, preparing for something or other elsewhere, something to do with moving supplies for the reconstruction of the lost hives.
“SURE, WHAT IS IT?” the Emperor roared.
“Whose idea was it to forge this treaty?” Isha asked, glancing over the other people at the table.
“MINE. WHY?”
“Because none of your Senators think it’s a good idea except the ones who stand to profit from it personally,” she said, glaring coolly at the Inquisitor and Commodore Romes specifically.
“WATCH YOUR TONE, PLEASE, ISHA, WE’RE TRYING TO LAY A GROUNDWORK OF RESPECT HERE,” the Emperor roared reprovingly.
“Respect?” Isha stared at the Throne icon incredulously. “Very well. Then, in that spirit, I think we should move on to a topic that so far, we’ve all been assiduously avoiding.”
“THAT BEING?”
Taldeer nodded grimly. “The Exodites.”
“OKAY. WHAT I’M PREPARED TO OFFER IS THAT ANY AND ALL INQUISITORIAL AND MECHANICUS TEAMS WORKING TO COLONIZE OR EVICT MAIDEN AND EXODITE WORLDS WILL ABANDON THE PROJECTS, AS LONG AS THEY ARE GIVEN TIME TO WITHDRAW CLEANLY, WITHOUT SACRIFICING MEN OR EQUIPMENT…BUT THAT IS RECIPROCAL. NO MORE CRAFTWORLD COLONY FLEETS SHOWING UP TO DEMAND HUMANS ABANDON THE ONLY WORLDS THEY HAVE EVER KNOWN, NO MORE CORSAIR RAIDS ON UNDEFENDED COLONY SHIPS, NOTHING.”
“I suppose a cessation of conflict over colony rights would benefit us both,” Taldeer said, “but that would require that we give you the coordinates over every single Maiden world and Exodite world. Can you understand my recalcitrance in that regard?”

“OF COURSE I CAN. I ALSO UNDERSTAND THAT THERE ARE EXODITES WHO ARE ACTIVELY OPPOSED TO CRAFTWORLD ELDAR. I WOULDN’T HOLD YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR ACTIONS.”
Isha nodded slowly, casting a glance at Taldeer, who had steepled her fingers and was clearly lost in thought. “Then perhaps we could adjourn, while Farseer Taldeer discusses this with the rest of the Farseers who have convened on Ulthwé?”
“SURE, LET’S TAKE AN HOUR. OH, AND ISHA, IF WE COULD SPEAK FOR A MOMENT?”
“Very well,” Isha said, as the other delegates filed out. As soon as the door closed, the hologram of the Throne icon switched off, and the Emperor spoke directly into her mind.
“ISHA, WHY IS LOFN HERE?”
“Good question,” she thought back. “I suspect that her mother wants her here for her power to play its role.”
“SO SHE KNOWS. AND YOU KNOW.”
“I didn’t when I got here. I suspected. Now I know for sure.”
“AND WHAT ACTIONS WILL YOU TAKE?”
“To what end should actions be taken? She doesn’t even know what her power is. Furthermore, it seems harmless. She passively soothes souls around her, removing hostility.”
“IS THAT WHAT IT IS? REALLY? INTERESTING. I KNOW OF NO SUCH POWER.”
“Nor I. But her mother is a Farseer, and her father has known some of the greatest traumas a human soul can know and function still. I am not surprised.”
“WELL SHE DOESN’T KNOW SHE HAS IT AND SENDING HER AWAY WOULD ANGER HER PARENTS…BUT I DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF A PERSON AT THAT TABLE THAT HAS A POWER THAT CAN CONTROL THE OUTCOME OF ALL THIS.”

“That is not under your command,” Isha supplied.
“WELL, YES. UNDERSTAND THAT I FACED OPPOSITION FROM MY OWN SONS OVER THIS. I DON’T BLAME TALDEER FOR GUESSING THAT THE NOBLES WHO RUN THINGS WHEN I’M AWAY TO BE EVEN MORE HOSTILE. BUT I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH SUBTERFUGE. I HAVE GONE TO GREAT LENGTHS TO ENSURE THAT MY SENATORS DO NOT APPROACH THIS TREATY UNDER FALSE PRETENSE. YOU SHOULD NOT PERMIT LESS OF YOUR OWN PEOPLE.”
Isha didn’t like hearing that, but chose the diplomatic response. “I agree. I will speak with Taldeer.”
“THANK YOU.” The Emperor severed their link and stewed over the information he had been given. “SPEAK WITH HER. RIGHT.” He briefly debated reaching out to Lofn, but decided against it: if she really didn’t know about her power, he didn’t want to frighten her.

9-099-001-M42
Lord Dante sat in the smallest chapel of his ship and thought. The encounter with the Sanguinor had been almost as stirring and terrifying as serving under the Emperor Himself, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of his own behavior.
No man lived to his twelfth century through rash and impulsive behavior. What in space had possessed him to call out to it like that?
“Much has changed, since the last time the Blood Angels were in such peril as to merit the Sanguinor’s presence in combat,” Dante muttered, cradling his head in his hands.
He had spoken at length to the great angel of blood, and begged its attention on Terra. Now, in the time of the greatest tumult since the Harrowing and the Heresy, when the Emperor had ascended and Abbadon crushed, and the Primarchs had arisen once more…surely the Sanguinor would abandon its mysterious ways, come forth, and reveal itself to the Emperor?

0-099-001-M42
“WELL I APPRECIATE YOUR CONCERN, FARSEER. I DON’T WANT YOU TO COME AWAY FROM THIS THINKING THAT ALL HUMAN CORSAIRS ARE UNDER OUR CONTROL. BUT LAST TIME I CHECKED, MANY ELDAR CORSAIRS ARE IN FACT LOYAL TO THEIR CRAFTWORLDS, AND WILL RETURN TO SUPPORT THEIR NAVIES IF CALLED UPON TO DO SO,” the Emperor said.
“Very true, just as human privateers and raiders will sometimes help harass the vessels of those attacking human planets,” Taldeer shot back.
“YOU CAN HARDLY COMPARE THE TWO. WE KILL HUMAN RAIDERS WHEN WE SEE THEM AND CONFISCATE THEIR LUCRE. ELDAR PIRATES WHO SUCCESSFULLY RAID HUMAN SHIPPING LINES GET A PAT ON THE BACK.”
“As they wash the blood of my men from their hands,” Commodore Romes said bitterly.
Taldeer skewered him with her glare. “And as stated: if this treaty is signed into law, it will stop.
“Good faith will only take you so far-” the Commodore began.
“WHOA!” the Emperor suddenly yelled.
“What?! What is it, my Liege?” Romes asked worriedly.
“NOTHING…NOTHING THAT NEED CONCERN YOU. PLEASE CONTINUE, A VERY, VERY IMPORTANT GUEST HAS JUST ARRIVED.” The Throne icon reverted to the symbol of the Aquila, and the High Lords looked amongst each other worriedly.
The Emperor stared at the Warp Rift opening mere meters from him in complete shock. The Custodes abandoned their vigil and ran for the Rift, all drawing weapons.
“STAND DOWN, MY LOYAL FRIENDS, STAND DOWN…THIS IS NO FOE.”
“My Liege? It is a Warp Rift!” one of them pointed out, glaive leveled and ready to fire. “Who knows what kind of daemon…could…oh…” he trailed off at the sight of the being emerging.

A golden, winged human stepped forth, clad in gleaming armor, with a massive two-handed sword hanging from his belt. The Emperor stared at the apparition, jaw hanging open. “IT CAN’T BE.”
The Rift sewed itself shut behind the angel, as the Custodes uncertainly aimed their weapons.
“I am,” the angel said, his voice thin and muffled.
“HOW? I NEVER SAW YOU, EVEN ONCE, ALL THIS TIME…I WATCHED YOU DIE!”
“Death is a filter, my Liege, separating the strong from the weak. For the weak, it is a barrier that can not be crossed. For the strong, it is a mountain, which can be climbed, overcome, and conquered.”
“…DID DANTE SEND YOU?” the Emperor asked, trying to come to grips with the man facing him.
“Yes.”
“WHY DID YOU COME NOW? IF YOU WERE THE SANGUINOR THIS ENTIRE TIME, WHY DID YOU NOT COME FORTH BEFORE, WHEN THERE MIGHT HAVE BEEN TIME TO HALT AND REVERSE MY DECAY?”
“What could be done? I am more than the sum of my components, but even I can not reverse time,” the angel said, its voice brimming with regret.
“WHAT WAS DONE TO ME WAS NOT DONE BY TIME. WHAT WAS DONE TO ME – AND YOU – WAS DONE BY TREASON, BETRAYAL, AND FOUL CHAOS.”
“True. But I am here. Now. When things…change so much. I have seen a great crossroads in my visions, yes…but never have we been so close to it,” the angel said earnestly.
“A CROSSROADS…INDEED. WELL…THEN I MUST KNOW, IF I AM TO TRUST THESE VISIONS. IF YOU REMOVE THAT MASK, WHO WILL BE UNDER IT?”

“A face. That face hides two souls. As it must.”
“SUCH SACRIFICE…NOW AND THEN,” the Emperor said, suddenly flooded with a sadness he could not conceal. The angel’s gaze dropped, and the Custodes looked at one another uncertainly. “YOU SHAME ME.”
“Do not be ashamed. We have both made catastrophic mistakes, my Father.” The man unclamped his mask and removed it, revealing a face marred by brutal and vivid scarring.
“WHOSE BODY DO YOU INHABIT, MY SON? HE IS CLEARLY A BLOOD ANGEL.”
“In my original service, he was my greatest warrior. He was Azkaellon. He was my Herald and my Bearer,” the man said, the scars over his mouth twisting the words and muffling them.
“YES…I REMEMBER HIM. HE WAS EVER YOUR FRIEND. HE WAS A GREAT AND GIFTED WARRIOR.”
“He would be honored to hear you say it, Father. When he was dying, his soul met mine, and he gladly gave his broken and ruined body to me, to sustain me in some form,” the angel said, gesturing to massive, red-tinged marks on the gleaming metal of his armor. The damage was long gone, but its remains were clearly visible.
“TWO SOULS IN ONE BODY…I AM AWARE OF THE MADNESS THAT CAN BRING, MY SON. I AM GLAD YOU HAVE OVERCOME IT.”
“Yes, and I am glad that yours does not seem to bear any trace of the THING you now inhabit.” The scarred angel frowned. “Surely you do not need to stay in that body?”
“I ACTUALLY DO, FOR NOW. FEAR NOT. WHEN MY IMPERIUM HAS STABILIZED ENOUGH THAT MY ABSENCE FOR NINE MONTHS WILL NOT DESTROY IT, I WILL DIE AND BE REBORN.”
“That’s reassuring. I don’t know how long I could bear that visage,” the angel said wryly. He smiled through his damaged face. “It’s good to see time has not eroded your humor, Father.”
“NOR YOURS, SANGUINIUS. WELCOME HOME.”

“Then I suppose that is that. Once the Emperor signs off on the final instruction to formalize the treaty, then you will bring it to the Councils of the various Craftworlds?” the Lord Commander Solar said wearily, rubbing his eyes.
“I shall,” Taldeer said, looking over the data slate in front of her. “Lady Isha, may I ask that you do the same for the Exodites?” Taldeer continued staring at the slate for a moment longer, before looking up at the goddess. “Lady Isha?”
Isha was gripping the armrests of her seat, eyes wide in shock. The High Lords glanced over curiously. “Taldeer…do you not feel that? There is something…terrible in the Throne room.”
“What?” Taldeer closed her eyes and concentrated, sensing Lofn and the psychic High Lord surreptitiously doing the same. She cast her thoughts over the Throne, looking past the obvious, blazing radiance of the Emperor, and found…something.
“That is unusual,” Taldeer murmured. “I presume it to be the ‘guest’ of the Emperor.”
“A daemon, playing the guest to the Emperor in a daemon,” Isha said, an uncharacteristic note of bitterness in her voice.
“It can not be,” the Master of Astropaths whispered, his face slack with shock.
“You know this being?” the Master of Assassins asked.
“We’ve never met, but I have felt it, when I was receiving a message on the Blood Angels’ behalf,” he said shortly, standing. “Inquisitor, you had better get down there.”
The Inquisitorial representative cocked an eyebrow and stood. “The Sanguinor?”
“So it would seem,” the Astropath hissed.

“WHAT DO YOU INTEND TO DO NOW, MY SON?”
“Well, much as I’d like to, I can’t remain here and would you KINDLY point that elsewhere?” Sanguinor asked, glaring at a Custodes Terminator who had been menacing him with a Triple Assault Cannon from the moment he had arrived.
The Custodian jerked his head back, looking to the Emperor for approval. The Emperor nodded. “STAND AT EASE, MY CUSTODIANS, HE IS NO THREAT TO YOU.”
“As I was saying,” Sanguinor said, nodding,” I can not stay. “Though it would please me to no end to do battle against Abbadon’s filth alongside you and my Angels once more, my…pact with this body is tenuous, as is its grip on this dimension. I can remain only an hour more.”
“THEN I INSIST, MY SON, STAY AS LONG AS YOU CAN, REARM, AND LISTEN TO THE STATE OF THINGS,” the Emperor said, as the Custodes slowly drifted back to their posts.
“Lord Dante was kind enough to explain the bizarre state of the galaxy to me when I spoke to him on Rordek, Father. Incidentally, have you heard of the catastrophe that has befallen him? Fully half the Sanguinary Guard and First Company, downed by a disastrous Hrud ambush.”
“UNFORTUNATE. I’M SURE HE’S EAGER TO RETURN TO BAAL AND REBUILD,” the Emperor said. “AND NO, I HAD NOT HEARD.”

Suddenly, a loud creaking from the hinges of the Eternity Gate announced another visitor. The Inquisitorial representative of the High Lords charged in, running for the Emperor.
“My Liege, be warned! There is a…oh.” He came to a bashful halt. “I…guess you already know. All right then…I’ll take my leave,” he mumbled, turning back to the door. The Emperor watched him go with bemusement.
“WHAT A STERLING AND INSPIRATIONAL EXAMPLE OF THE CEASELESS VIGILANCE OF THE IMPERIUM.”
“Well, in fairness, Father, I AM a daemon, technically,” Sanguinor said, shrugging his massive wings. The Custodes shifted uncomfortably. “The Inquisition has been trying to capture me for millennia.”
“INDEED?”
“They thought it was a sign that the Blood Angels were harboring Khorne-worshippers. Having blood and warfare be the symbols of the chapter didn’t…help disavow them of that belief.”
The Emperor chuckled, an odd sound from such a massive creature. “WELL, MY SON, I WILL SEE WHAT I CAN DO IN THE REGARD OF ALLOWING YOU TO STAY LONGER. HOW LONG BEFORE YOU CAN RETURN TO TERRA AGAIN?”
“The Warp is a tempestuous place, Father, as you well know. A month? A thousand decades? I do not know,” the Sanguinor said regretfully.
“THEN DO STOP BY BAAL NEXT AND INTRODUCE YOURSELF FORMALLY. ACTUALLY, I HAVE TO ASK: WHY DIDN’T YOU DO THAT ALREADY?”
“Because, Father, I confess that I felt a sense of shame. I failed miserably in my duty. Azkaellon felt that he had, in turn, failed me. Returning to Baal…would have been humiliating. Dante was humbling in his request that I come here at all,” Sanguinor admitted.

“DID YOU KNOW HE REINTERPRETED YOUR PROPHESY?” the Emperor asked.
“Yes. I can not speak to the accuracy of his interpretation; certainly mine was wrong.” Sanguinor looked around the room in sudden dismay. “It seems I will not have time to help myself to your armories after all, Father, for my grasp on this dimension wanes.”
“I UNDERSTAND. IT DID MY HEART GOOD TO SEE YOU HERE, MY SON,” the Emperor said ruefully. “DO ME A FAVOR…TELL ME; CAN YOU SEE VESSELS AS THEY TRAVEL THE WARP?”
“Certainly. Why?”
“IF YOU GET THE CHANCE, CAN YOU TELL ME IF VULKAN IS ALL RIGHT? HE WAS ON HIS WAY TO NOCTURNE AND COLLIDED WITH THE CARCASS OF A VOID WHALE.”
“Well…that’s a bit vague, but I can look into it if you wish,” Sanguinor said, thinking it over.
“I’D APPRECIATE IT.” The Sanguinor’s form wavered for a moment, and he nodded.
“I’m afraid my time is up. Farewell.”
“FAREWELL, MY SON. I LOOK FORWARD TO OUR NEXT MEETING.”

4-100-001-M42
“Well, if you wanted to do so, I assure you that the first thing I would have done is approve,” Leman Russ said, looking over his restored quarters. “Not that I can blame you for holding off.”
“Restoring your quarters in absentia would have given false hope, I think,” Grimnir said, watching the servitors drop off the last of the boxes from cold storage.
“True.” Russ stepped down into the restored room and dropped his meager kitbag on the floor, kicking it in the general direction of his wardrobe. The room was the exact opposite of the rest of the Fang. Every inch of the walls was obscured under a mess of junk; trophies, flattering portraits, books and scrolls, holos of distant places, and, naturally, enough weapons to outfit a full Blood Pack.
Russ smirked as the memories the trophies recalled filtered back…conquest after conquest. He glanced over the colossal, fur-covered bed, and continued his recall, of rather different conquests.
The far window looked over the endless expanse of the Fenris ice fields. The scouring wind was propelling a shard-storm over the plain. That would mince any of the nomads that got caught outside.
Russ hefted the featureless black case next to the nearest pile of weapons, and clicked the simple combination lock open. He reached in and extracted the battle-scarred Power Claymore from within, grinning broadly as it caught the light of the room.
“An old friend, my Lord?” Grimnir asked from the door.
“Indeed, Grimnir, an old friend.” Russ twisted his wrist suddenly, driving the blade down to the floor and back up in an arc. It looked oddly small for the Primarch, Grimnir noted.

“I drove this through an Ork Warboss and out the other side, then left it in there,” Russ said, setting back in the box and closing it. “The Warboss lived through it, and even kept fighting until I kicked is legs out from under him and he fell on it. Bjorn thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen and made a point of retrieving it.”
Grimnir smiled half-heartedly at the mention of their venerable brother. “My Lord…as long as we’re here, I have to ask. What do you think of Bjorn’s complaints thus far?”
Russ pulled a face, thinking over what little he had seen in the two days he had been back. “Well-grounded. If, perhaps, tainted with regret. He doesn’t just see something wrong here, he sees it as having been his fault for preventing it.”
“You could, of course, change things as you saw fit,” Grimnir pointed out, masking his displeasure at the thought.
“Oh, yes, yes I can,” Russ said flatly. “In fact…” he said, turning to face the shorter man with a tight, strained grin. “Bet on it.”
“Well, that’s encouraging,” Grimnir said. Russ went back to rooting through his piles of crap.
“Don’t take it personally. Honestly, I don’t see too much to be wrong here. Just a few…edges need trimming. We’re going to be called upon to take to the field soon again anyway.”
“You’ve heard from the Emperor, then?” Grimnir asked.
“Nope, he’d be damn stupid not to try to capitalize on the gains we made against Abbadon in the Black Crusade.” Russ pulled two wooden doors in the side of the room open to reveal the suit of prototype Mk.7 armor he had worn before beginning his penance. “And we won’t be the only ones.”

2-100-001-M42
Two hundred thousand Guardsmen and PDF coming to attention at the same time is not something you hear very often, even when you’re the ruler of a pocket empire. Roboute Guilliman savored it. He had a lot of work to do, and wouldn’t be likely to hear it again.
The assembled troops were arranged by company, with the entire plaza packed nearly solid. The few hundred Ultramarines – including Dreadnoughts – present on Macragge had assembled around the plaza at intervals, save Calgar himself, who was standing on the marble stage at the front of the plaza. The center of the plaza was filled with a metallic statue of himself, Guilliman noted with wry amusement. THAT hadn’t been there when he had seen the place last.
Calgar was leading a ceremony to welcome him back formally. Guilliman noted that the gaping hole in the roof of the temple, wherein he had resided for ten thousand years, was already partially fixed. They certainly hadn’t wasted any time in the month since the Emperor had blasted it open.
He heard his name mentioned for about the fiftieth time since the speech had begun, and grimaced with distaste at the words that had preceded them. “Spiritual Liege.” Damn it, he had known the moment he had said those words, over ten millennia ago, that they would have become the “Peace in our time,” no matter how long it had been since he had said them. Sometimes you just can’t outrun bad decisions.

Ah well. Calgar was bowing out, and the time for introspection was over. Guilliman stepped up to the podium, feeling the eyes of over a fifth of a million soldiers on him. That never got old. The PDF Sergeant-at-arms at the edge of the podium puffed himself up. “Ten…HUT! Heyes…front! Chest…out! PRE-sent…HARMS!” The troops present – even the Ultramarines, Guilliman noted – followed the instruction with commendable precision. Guilliman nodded curtly to the Sergeant, who continued his bellowing. “Ultramar…at…EASE.” The ranks of soldiery dropped back into file, those whose hands weren’t occupied clasping them at their backs.
Guilliman slowly exhaled and stepped up to the vox, marshaling his thoughts. It always distantly bothered him when he didn’t have time to practice his speeches. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said, nodding at the man again. Without waiting for a response – like he would have gotten one! – he cast his gaze out over the crowd. “My friends. Before I say anything else, I feel I must establish…it is very good to be home.” He paused a moment to let the smiles work their way across the faces of the troops assembled below, many of whom were either weeping openly or on their way there. The Primarch let the silence build in potency for a moment before moving on. “I know that the means and timing of my departure a month back were disconcerting at best. I assure you, had I been conscious to witness it, I would have been just as confused as I’m told you were.” A ripple of sycophantic laughter echoed through the assemblage. The buzzing cloud of servo-skulls and pictcaster drones over the crowd wobbled in the faint evening breeze as they broadcast the signal to every living person with access to an antenna or psychic powers within a hundred light-years.

“That said, the Emperor sends his best, to the legions of troops who held the line against the predations of the Tyranids. Give yourselves the credit you and your predecessors deserve for that accomplishment.” Guilliman inclined his head a fraction as the few Tyrannic War Veterans present – only four, plus Calgar – nodded to acknowledge the applause. When it ended, Guilliman resumed. “I must say, it pleases me to no end that Macragge is held alongside Terra as one of the beacons of the Imperium. Ten thousand years gone by, and Ultramar stands.” He paused again to let the roar of adulation and approval wash through the plaza. He timed his next words carefully, to cut across the last second or so of sound. “I look forward to, once again, leading the Realm in its protection, expansion, and enrichment of the Imperium. I know that when the time comes, I will be able to count on every single one of you to assist me in that most noble endeavor. I hope that the faith the rest of the Imperium holds in the martial prowess and unshakable economic strength of Ultramar will be justified by our conduct. I look forward to it, in fact. I will call upon you soon, my battle-brothers, to once again purge the Imperium of the heretic, the mutant, and the alien.” He aimed that comment at the entire crowd, not just the Marines, and smiled to himself at the sight of the mortal warriors in the crowd swelling with pride at being included in such heady company.

Guilliman raised his gaze over the crowd to the walls of the city beyond, and the still-damaged temple. “The times the Imperium has faced over the last ten thousand years have been trying, I know now. And I know, not all of the battles we have fought in the Emperor’s name have ended with the triumph we deserve. But now, together, with our Emperor restored to his proper position at the head of Humanity, and with myself and my brothers beside him, we can begin again, and make this Imperium strong.” He placed as much emphasis on the last word as he could, to underscore his trust in the troops, and they responded with another round of applause, as the Ultramarines thumped their gauntlets against their breastplates. “For that, my friends, my fellow warriors of the Imperium of Man, I thank you.” He nodded once and stepped back, gesturing below the podium to the Sergeant. The man took a step forward and addressed the plaza.
“Ten – HUT!” The Guard and PDF snapped back to attention as Guilliman dismounted the back of the stage, not looking back. “DIS…MISSED!” the Sergeant bellowed. The ranks of troops filed out by company, as the Ultramarines either returned to the vehicles that had borne them there or wandered across the plaza towards the temple. As soon as he was off the podium, he angled straight for the awe-struck Calgar, who was waiting for him.

“Well said, my Liege,” Calgar said quietly, as Guilliman disengaged the vox from his armored gorget.
“Thank you, brother Marneus,” Guilliman said, dropping the vox into the waiting hands of a Chapter serf. “And, please, don’t call me that.”
“Liege? My Lord, I mean it only as a sign of respect,” Calgar said in genuine surprise.
“Of course you do. But our Liege has risen from His Throne once more.” Guilliman climbed into the compartment of the Ultramarine Land Speeder parked behind the stage. “I shouldn’t take that from him. Now, come. We have a great deal to discuss.”

0-100-001-M42
Lofn was getting a little sick of this. She had been brought along to the conference day after day, and nobody ASKED her anything! At least Mom had said that this was going to be the last day. This time, there were only four people at the Imperial end of the table. Three of them were shiny, but one was the scary hollow man from before. One of the shiny men, with the third eye, was complaining. Again.
“I know the Eldar do not use the light of the holy Astronomican for navigation, as I and my kin do.”
“We don’t need it,” Mom said. The Throne icon at the end of the table suddenly flickered as the loud guy started talking.
“IT’S NOT, IF YOU’LL ALLOW SOME CANDOR, LIKE WE CAN STOP YOU FROM USING IT.”
“Right. Then, if we are done?” Mom asked, standing up. Dad and Lady Isha stood too.
“I THINK WE ARE. MIND IF I SEND THE TRANSCRIPT DIRECTLY TO YOUR SHIP?”
“Go ahead, by all means,” Mom said. The shiny man with the huge letter caved into his arms was glaring at Lofn for some reason. She stared back, wondering what she had done this time. As soon as the little recorder in the corner bleeped off, he started talking.
“Farseer, now that we’re done, I think we deserve to know. Why in the world did you insist your daughter come here?” he demanded. “She’s far too young for politics.”
“I didn’t bring her here as a representative,” Taldeer said drily. “Your Emperor, Lady Isha, and I have discussed this.” The bald man got angry.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Are you addressing me, or the Emperor?” Taldeer shot back. The man immediately shut up.

I was just showing my friend FATAL after we got into a discussion of worst things ever (she showed me Eye of Argon, I said, "Oh, it's not so bad, FATAL is BAD.") This is welcome relief.

Lofn sighed aloud, then regretted it. Everyone in the room looked at her. The empty man smiled at her, and looked like he might have actually meant it. “Something to add, Lofn?”
Well, there wouldn’t have been anything to say, but after several days of this, she was out of patience. “I’m just…” she didn’t say ‘bored.’ She really wanted to. “I don’t know why I’m here either.” Dad closed his eyes for a moment, and Lofn felt his frustration. Mom smiled, though.
“Well, now that we’re done, I can tell you when we get home, OK?”
Lofn shrugged under the uncomfortable formal dress she was wearing. “All right.”
The golden security guard opened the door, and Lady Isha walked out without a word. Mom took Lofn’s hand and walked her out of the room, with Dad behind her. On their way back to the suites they had been assigned, Dad walked up next to her and leaned over.
“Sorry this has been so boring, Lofn.”
“It’s…pretty boring, yeah,” Lofn allowed. Lady Isha tilted her head to the side as somebody soul-talked to her, then shook her head. “I wanna know why so many of the humans here hate us.”
“Oh, Lofn,” Mom said sadly. She shook her head too, staring at the floor. “We have so many reasons. I don’t want to tell you about them yet.”

>>18568182
>showing someone FATAL as anything other than a means of ending friendships

“I WONDER HOW TALDEER’S GOING TO EXPLAIN TO HER DAUGHTER THAT THE ONLY REASON SHE’S HERE IS TO ACT AS A PACIFIER?” the Emperor said in Isha’s head.
“Tactfully,” Isha said shortly. It irked her to no end that he had used those words. “What do you want?”
“WELL, YOU SAID EARLIER YOU MIGHT BE VISITING AN EXODITE WORLD. DO YOU KNOW WHICH ONE?”
“Not by any name you’d recognize, no. I need to visit Ulthwé first, also,” Isha pointed out. “Why do you care? Our negotiations have concluded.”
“YEAH, BUT OUR ROGUE TRADERS SOMETIMES GO DECADES WITHOUT CONTACTING THE IMPERIUM. YOU MIGHT ENCOUNTER ONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENED HERE.”
“Oh? And what would I tell them?” Isha asked tartly. “What message would I give that would carry your authority?”
“EASY: INVOKE THE WRIT OF TRADE THAT THEY CARRY. HELL, SOME OF THEM I SIGNED, PERSONALLY, WHEN I STARTED THE CRUSADE. JUST SAY THAT I’VE INSTRUCTED THAT THE WRIT BE EXTENDED TO EXCLUDE TERRITORIAL CLAIMS OVER EXODITES AND THEY SHOULD LEAVE YOU ALONE. IF NOT, LET ME KNOW. I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT.”

4-100-001-M42
Vulkan paced his cabin on the Swift, thinking the last few eventful days over. The Unbound Flame was safe in his hands once more. Ir’Shal had promised him that the ship would be capable of making the jump home, now that they knew where they were. The Gellar field was holding. So why did he feel a sense of unease?
Certainly the ship was in poor shape. Fully a tenth of the crew was dead or insane, thanks to their brief inundation with the Warp. Now, even as they were on the way to Nocturne, they were far from out of trouble. The absence of a Navigator meant slow going, especially with the absence of the Emperor’s wake to speed their journey. Perhaps, then, it was the journey that caused him his discomfort?
No. He knew. Vulkan sighed and ran his hands over his eyes, trying to figure out what to say when he got home. It was Nocturne. Would he find something to be proud of? Or would he find himself ashamed? Certainly Tu’Shan was confident that whatever he found would live up to Vulkan’s standards.

0-101-001-M42
“WELL, THAT WAS PRODUCTIVE,” the Emperor said drily. The Senate of the High Lords had all but disbanded for the day, leaving only the Lord Commander Militant and Captain-General of the Custodes present in the Throne room. “I TRUST, LORD COMMANDER, THAT YOU CAN SEE TO THE CORRECT DISPERSAL OF INSTRUCTIONS TO THE GUARD AND NAVY?”
“Yes, my Liege,” the man said, wondering how best to phrase these peculiar orders. The Cadian regiments would take it best, he suspected. Perhaps the Tallarns, and the planets they’d settled, would be receptive.
“IN THE MEANTIME, GENTLEMEN, I THINK IT BEST IF I TAKE MY LEAVE, FOR A TIME,” the Emperor announced pensively, throwing the two much smaller men a shock.
“What? Ah, my Liege, but you just returned to us!” the Lord Commander said.
“YEAH, BUT WITH FULGRIM DEFEATED, I HONESTLY DON’T THINK I’M NEEDED HERE IN PERSON. HONESTLY, I THINK I’M NEEDED ELSEWHERE RIGHT NOW.” The Emperor looked into the distance, as if seeing his destination in his mind. “SPECIFICALLY, THE ROCK. THERE’S SOMETHING OF VITAL IMPORTANCE I NEED TO DISCUSS WITH LION.”
“As is your prerogative, my Liege,” the Captain-General said. He was taking the news far better than the Lord Commander was, at any rate.

4-101-001-M42
Azrael stared at the document on the table before him, letting its implications sink in. He knew he had to sign it. Still, it felt like he was abdicating more than his position. It felt like he was abandoning his responsibility.
Lion El’Jonson had been specific in his careful appraisal of the chapter’s status after he returned from Terra. While he had been impressed both that the chapter had overcome so many obstacles in its path, and the fact that nearly two thirds of the Fallen were accounted for, he had been astonished and enraged by Azrael’s conduct during the opening weeks of the 13th Black Crusade and Gothic war. Both times he had been asked to help by the Imperial commanders leading the counteroffensives, and both times he had refused only until it was mentioned that Abbadon had Fallen among his ranks. El’Jonson had informed him in no uncertain terms that outright refusing calls for help when it was desperately needed was contrary to the standards to which he wanted his officers held; certainly when his refusal of the second request had stemmed solely from a desire to avoid the presence of Logan Grimnir.
That said, he had understood that Azrael was simply living up to the standards and procedures of his predecessors going back to before the end of the Heresy. As such, he had done no more than “request” that Azrael accede his position as Chapter Master and Keeper of the Truth back to its rightful Primarch.

Lion had probably not meant outright censure him, but that didn’t take the barb out of the order. Still, what choice did he have? With a heavy sigh, he penned his name at the bottom of the document, formally resigning his position as head of the Dark Angels.
El’Jonson himself was not present to witness his officer’s dilemma. He was busy staring into the depths of the cell at the bottom of the unsealed portions of the Rock. Lying on the cot inside was a withered husk of a man, chained to about a dozen different medical machines, which were clearly the only things keeping him sane and alive. It was all he could do to look at the former Astartes. They were once among the best of friends. He was Luther, formerly the second in command of the entire Legion, and the only living Space Marine to have survived the entire history of the Imperium without internment in a Dreadnought.
Luther craned his head up a fraction to stare at El’Jonson, hovering outside the cell door. After blearily focusing on the Primarch outside, he sank back onto the pillow with a whimper. “It’s…about…time…”
“It has been a while, Luther,” El’Jonson said faintly, gazing down at the prisoner through the cell door. He turned the key in the lock and slowly swung the massive metal slab inwards.

“I knew…my patience…would be…recognized…” Luther managed.
“’Recognized?’” El’Jonson asked. “What exactly did you think I was going to do here?”
“Not sure…now,” Luther croaked, a little life returning to his pallid skin as he tried to move. “You…came back…before…”
“Yes, for a few days.” El’Jonson walked in, leaning on the wall and staring at his bed-ridden friend. “Things were rather hectic.”
“Excuses,” Luther managed.
“I have to wonder, old friend, what you hoped to gain. Why did you think your betrayal would be rewarded?” El’Jonson asked.
“Rewards?...no…improvements, Lion,” Luther rasped. “Chaos offers much…”
“Was it worth it?” Lion asked coldly.
“Of course…not, Lion…”Luther said. He struggled to lift one atrophied hand, pointing out, beyond the walls of the Rock. “But it…was not I…who shattered…our home…”
“It was you who made it necessary,” Lion said, condemnation dripping from his voice. “Was it guilt over that act that brought you to live over ten thousand years? Hmm?”
“I sought…only…an end…” Luther said painfully.
“Lies,” Lion said. “You could have killed yourself long ago if an end and an end alone is what you sought.” He leaned forward, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “You fear what awaits you on the other side of death, should it come for you in the absence of my forgiveness.”
“Fear…death? You mistake me…Lion,” Luther said, anger coloring his reedy voice.
“Do not lie to me again, Luther.” Lion walked over to the medical machines, staring at the readouts.
“You lied…to the Emperor,” Luther said bitterly. El’Jonson cocked his eyebrow.
“Did I?”
“You waited…with your ships…to see if Horus would win…before committing…at Terra,” Luther accused, his eyes burning.

“Foolishness.” El’Jonson ran his hands over the life-support equipment.
“Why else…brother?” Luther snarled, the task of speaking so much clearly taking its toll.
El’Jonson paused his inspection, appearing to think over the question. “A reasonable question.” He turned to the withered old man, measuring his words with greater care. “I knew…Horus and Father would meet. It was unavoidable. Completely unavoidable. Horus would have hacked and cut his way through ten thousand Custodes and a million Army men to reach father. And Dorn and I both understood that Terra was the fated place of their meeting, and no fortification on his part would prevent that.” For a moment, his eyes turned down, in recrimination or anger. “Sanguinius, for all his foresight, did not. He was determined to prove that that arrogant fool Horus was salvageable.”
El’Jonson walked back to the door and closed it, still lost in thought. “But I knew. I think Jaghatai didn’t see it. Dorn did. Ferrus would have.” Lion turned to Luther and pierced him with his stare. “I could have arrived sooner. But what if I had? What if Leman, Vulkan, Corax, Roboute, and I had all arrived, with the fullest strength of our armies and our ships and our killing machines? What then, Luther? How would it have ended?”
“You tell me…brother,” Luther said coldly.

“I will.” Lion turned back to the machines, carefully examining each one in turn. “You see, Horus, for all his Chaos-fuelled rage, was not without strategic foresight. He knew what the full strength of our legions arriving would have meant. That, I understand, is why he lowered his shields to allow Father, Dorn, and Sanguinius aboard. He knew he had a material advantage. But…with Fulgrim exercising his depravities below, Perturabo off trading blows with Dorn, and Magnus out of commission, he couldn’t really exercise it. He had to end it. Then and there. Kill the Emperor or die trying.”
“All the…more reason…for you to…speed your way…there, liar!” Luther said vindictively.
“Still prattling about how I am the traitor, here, eh?” Lion said. He stared at the blank stone floor for a moment. “If I had arrived early, before the Emperor had a chance to kill Horus, then both sides would have lost less…but Horus would have lived. And ultimately, the resources it would have taken to kill him would have depleted the Imperium to such an extent that Lorgar and Perturabo would have simply conquered it whole. As it is, they have done nothing…NOTHING…for ten thousand years. Abbadon’s Crusades accomplish little save scarring the face of Cadia. Omegon’s twisted little schemes have hurt the Imperium, to be sure, but without his brother’s wisdom, he’s half of a whole.”
“That’s IT?!” Luther managed, face colored with rage. “I waited…ten thousand years…for that? Excuses and ass-covering? Our…Emperor rots on…his Throne…because you…you wanted to see…them kill each other?” El’Jonson stared at the machines, refusing to look Luther in the eye. “It was…all of this…was just as you wanted? Just…as planned?”

“OF COURSE NOT!” El’Jonson roared, his quiet rage boiling over completely. Luther recoiled at the sudden change in his former apprentice’s demeanor. “Do you think I WANT the Imperium to be a crumbling monolith of inefficiency? Do you think I WANT Dorn and Sanguinius to be dead? Do you think I planned YOU putting me in a bloody coma? Do you think I foresaw a betrayal BY MY OWN FORCES?!”
“Why not?” Luther managed, his own anger lending him strength. “You forgot us here! You left us…to claim the glory…of the Crusade for yourself!”
“I forgot NO ONE,” El’Jonson said, his voice dripping ice where fire had been. “And if you had not turned to Chaos and nearly slain me, the Imperium may well have weathered the madness of the Heresy unscathed. Or did you not think that perhaps several thousand of the oldest Dark Angels suddenly turning to Chaos, would have had ill effect? Your actions betray your claims.”
“I did what I had to do…to punish your betrayal, or so I thought,” Luther said, his anger fading to bitterness and remorse.
El’Jonson stared at him furiously. “Azrael tells me that you have pled for mercy and forgiveness – by my hand – for ten thousand years, Luther. Tell me, what part of your little diatribe there was supposed to lend itself to my favor?”

Luther glared at his student, their argument hanging in the air between them. Finally, he sagged down on the bed, his temper failing him. “I waited ten thousand years for your verdict. Deliver it.”
“Very well.” Lion stood over the ailing Luther, looking levelly into his eyes. “I think you’ve suffered enough for one life.” Luther’s hazy eyes went wide. “I assure you, ten thousand years ago, I would have cleaved you in half for your foolishness, conspiracies, and weakness. But…” El’Jonson looked remorseful for a long moment. “Well…I was asleep the whole time, you know. In the Rock, below us. I had no idea what was going on out here. Ten thousand years of rest…compared to what Jaghatai, Corax, Russ, and Vulkan went through, that’s a vacation.”
“Time taught you mercy…Lion?” Luther wheezed.
“Oh no, no,” Lion said. “not at all. But…they suffered for ten thousand years, Luther. So did Father. I wouldn’t, even retroactively, wish that on my worst enemy. You.”
“Mercy tempered with vitriol,” Luther croaked.
“Something like that.” El’Jonson extracted a few small pieces of metal and glass, setting them down carefully on the medical equipment. Luther looked on with confusion. “Vulkan was sucked onto a daemon world and tortured for ten thousand years. It never quenched his flames, his love of life. Russ fought a losing battle in the Eye itself. It never broke him. Corax was forced into Fulgrim’s amusements. It didn’t shatter his mind. And Jaghatai…he was prey for the most wicked depredations of the Webway chronovortices for ten millennia. It never weakened him.” Lion slid the glass vials into the metal tube and screwed in another metal piece as a wicked-looking syringe began to form.

“I was asleep. Embraced in repose of slumber. While my brothers and friends killed each other by the armful above. While the Imperium eroded…perhaps for my absence. If I ever needed a reason to deny you your forgiveness, there it is. But like I said…” he noted, finishing his assembly, “you’ve suffered enough…in this life.” El’Jonson paused for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at his former friend. “I don’t know what happens to those who repent their willingness to embrace Chaos after they die. But for what it’s worth…I think it would be right for me to forgive you.”
“You do.” Luther said flatly.
“Yes. Luther…I forgive you your transgression.” He tapped the tiny glass vial and ran the acceptor of the needle into it, flooding the chamber of the syringe with a sickly orange fluid.
Luther sagged back into the bed, reeling. “I thought I’d feel better after hearing that…”
“Let me help.” El’Jonson rammed the syringe into the catheter that bled its alchemical mixes into Luther’s shriveled arm. The mix of potent painkillers and narcotics in the vial was used to put Dreadnought occupants into comas that lasted up to a thousand years. For Luther, it was enough to kill him fifty times over. “Now go find out what the Chaos gods do to those who abandon their services…brother.” Luther’s eyes opened wide in shock, before slipping closed in impossible relaxation and pleasure, then his muscles went completely slack.
El’Jonson watched dispassionately. “If only this stuff wasn’t so potent, it might have been possible to salvage your geneseed, Luther.” He shrugged callously, disassembling the syringe and dropping it into his pocket. “Oh well.” He turned off the lights in the room, leaving the door open. The Watchers who had maintained his body for ten thousand years would disassemble it and repurpose the room, with none save Azrael the wiser.

In the Great Hall, the air parted and folded, with a rush of purple mist. The Emperor’s massive form appeared, stepping out nonchalantly. “AZRAEL. GOOD TO SEE YOU. IS LION ABOUT?” he asked the kneeling Dark Angel.
“He is, my Liege…and as per his request, I have acceded my title of Chapter Master back to him,” Azrael said, hoping the Emperor wouldn’t hear his displeasure with that change.
He did. “I SEE. WELL, THEN. TO WHICH POSITION HAVE YOU MOVED?”
“Lord of the Deathwing, my Liege,” Azrael said.
“AN HONORABLE ROLE. I’M SURE YOU…AH. LION. GOOD TO SEE YOU AS WELL.”
“Father,” Lion said, nodding his head respectfully. “What brings you here again?” He closed the door of the Hall behind him, making his way over to the Emperor.
“BUSINESS, I’M AFRAID. OUR TREATY WITH THE ELDAR IS SIGNED. ASSUMING ELDRAD BUYS IN. WHICH HE WILL. I’M HERE BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO LEAD OUR COUNTEROFFENSIVE AGAINST THE CHAOS FORCES THAT HAVE SWOOPED IN TO FILL THE GAP LEFT BY ABBADON.”
Lion concealed his surprise well. “I would be honored. Our little excursions to Zargh and Terra were fine exercise. Tackling the Black Legion would be a fitting challenge.”
“GOOD. ROBOUTE IS ALREADY BEGINNING THE ECONOMIC AND LOGISTICAL GROUNDWORK, AND THE FORCES WE DEPLOY WILL STAGE FROM NOCTURNE. VULKAN’S BEEN ACCOUNTED FOR, THANKFULLY.”
“Oh. That’s…quite a relief, actually,” Lion said gratefully. “Did you manage to augur their Astropath?”
“NO, SANGUINIUS DID.”
Lion stared at the Emperor. “What?”
“LONG STORY SHORT: HE FOUND A WAY BACK THANKS TO A MEMBER OF HIS GUARD WHO SACRIFICED HIMSELF AND SORCERY IT WOULD BE HYPOCRITICAL OF ME TO BITCH ABOUT.”

“Such times, these,” Azrael muttered.
“NO KIDDING. I EXPECT ANGRON HIMSELF TO BE IN CHARGE OF THE ASSAULT. FULGRIM’S LITTLE STUNT PROVED THAT TERRA WAS STILL VULNERABLE, EVEN WITH MY RETURN, AND HE’LL BE QUICK TO ONE-UP THE BROTHER HE ALWAYS HATED.”
“Probably,” Lion said. “I have to wonder what Jaghatai and Leman will be doing.”
“JAGHATAI’S BUSY REBUILDING THE RATHER SEVERE LOSSES THE SCARS SUFFERED AT ARMAGEDDON. RUSS IS BACK ON FENRIS, PREPARING THE WOLF BROTHERS FOR AN ALL-OUT SORTIE. I FEEL AWFUL ASKING HIM TO HEAD RIGHT BACK INTO THE EYE AFTER HE SPENT TEN THOUSAND YEARS THERE, THOUGH, SO I THINK HE’LL JUST BE SECOND WAVE.”
“We’re hitting the Eye directly?” Lion asked in genuine surprise.
“NO NO, SORRY, THAT WAS MISLEADING. YOU AREN’T GOING ANY-DAMN-WHERE NEAR IT. YOU’RE TAKING ON THE DARK MECHANICUS FORCES ABBADON LEFT BEHIND TO SPREAD THE OBLITERATOR VIRUS. THE ONLY ONE GOING NEAR THE EYE IS ME. ALSO I KIND OF PROMISED ISHA I’D HAVE TO KEEP ONE EAR OPEN FOR ROGUE TRADERS PUSHING THE EXODITES IN THE REGION AROUND TOO MUCH.”

Lion nodded, digesting that. “If I may, Father, I have another idea that may benefit the Imperium.”
“DO TELL.”
“If I understood Dante’s report correctly, there is another force in this galaxy that very seriously threatens the human race, in a way that Chaos doesn’t.”
“OH, THE NECRONS? YES, IT’S A VERY SERIOUS THREAT, BUT SADLY I CAN’T DETECT THE SOULLESS VERMIN UNDERGROUND ANY BETTER NOW THAN I COULD BEFORE.”
“No, Sire, not Necrons. The Tyranids. If we fail to stop them, all the victories we could ever wish for over Chaos will be meaningless,” Lion said carefully.
“TRUE. WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE?”
“Well, though it pains me to say it, Roboute and his Ultramarines would probably be best for battling them. Apparently they did a good job of it before.”
“YEAH, THEY DID. ARE YOU SAYING I SHOULD GO HANDLE IT MYSELF?”
“The only thing stopping the Guard and Astartes from beating them now is a simple lack of territory. The xenos occupy and strip every single planet they encounter, yes?”
“RIGHT. WE’RE LOSING AVAILABLE BATTLEFIELDS FASTER THAN SOLDIERS.”
“Right. If you were to go and, say, provide your personal leadership and power to the Guard forces fighting them now, you could tip the scales.”
“ESPECIALLY WITHY SAIN-HANN AND BIEL-TAN STOPPING THAT SCORCHED EARTH GARBAGE.” The Emperor thought it over. “GOOD CALL, LION. ALL RIGHT THEN. AS PER MY AUTHORITY, YOU ARE HEREBY BREVETED TO WARMASTER OF THE COUNTER-DARK MECHANICUS TASK GROUP IN MY ABSENCE. I WILL RETURN WHEN NEEDED.”

4-107-001-M42
Lord General Lokris of the Segmentum Ultima was a busy man. More than just battling the foes of the Emperor, he had to cut his way through the mountains of paper that seemed to be all that constituted the thinking the Departmento Munitorum did these days.
So when one of his oldest living friends, Commissar Caiaphas Cain, and that guy who followed him around, arrived at Segmentum Command, fresh from their victory over Warmaster Varan, and informed him that he had felt “the need to return to duty” (which was a code for ‘the Inquisition’s making me do it’ of Lokris ever heard one), the last thing he felt like doing was objecting.
Indeed, the timing was perfect. Lokris had just caught wind of some extraordinary happenings on Terra, including what sounded like a thwarted invasion by the legions of Slaanesh. Rumor had it the plan had failed because of the personal intervention of the Emperor Himself. Personally, Lokris didn’t hold any beliefs in that sort of nonsense. The Emperor would never stoop to appearing in daemons.

Sitting in the holo-conference room of the Just Accounts, the command vessel of the Segmentum Tempestus fleet on loan to the Ultima Command for fighting Leviathan, Lokris’ worldviews were changing rapidly. He watched the holomessage from Terra, regarding the Emperor’s…peculiar resurrection, his mind reeling. Were things so desperate that a move like that was truly necessary?
As the General was having his mind blown, Cain himself was relaxing in one of the battleship’s lounge floors, his own experience allowing him to digest the news perhaps a bit faster than the General’s. Certainly, he reasoned, he had encountered his fair share – or more – of inexplicable things in his life. And they had all turned out to his favor, albeit with some prodding and luck.
The lounge was all but deserted as the troops on board were scheduled for midday meals. Only a few officers and ships’ senior staff were present, all of them gabbling about the news as well. The noise was quite bearable, however, thanks to the almost literal bubble of free space around Cain, afforded him by the presence of his aide Ferik Jurgen, whose combination of Blank status and lack of hygene repulsed most healthy humans around him.

The ship was at anchor in orbit above the planet of Colburne, awaiting its clearance to deploy. The fleet’s deployment orders to kill of Tyranid bioships on their way to Octarius had been postponed, as the news of the Emperor’s return filtered through the Imperium. Clearly the message was supposed to be a signifier of hope, that the Emperor had risen from His Throne to guide His children once more. In reality, of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nobody liked the idea of the Emperor taking up residence inside a daemon, least of all the faithful.
Cain was more pragmatic about it. If he kept his head down and showed due devotion when called upon to do so, he’d live through it all, just as he had been doing for ninety years: by staying as far from actual combat as possible.
The commbead in his ear buzzed for his attention. He hastily set down his drink and responded to the hail. “Cain here.”
“Commissar, the representative of the Astartes contingent has docked. All regimental Commissars’ and Psykers’ presences are required immediately.” Cain frowned into the teacup. The presence of so many psykers effectively precluded Jurgen’s presence.
“Acknowledged. I’ll be along presently. Please begin in my absence if I’m tardy.” He had found that saying such things enhanced his reputation considerably; Cain the Hero was never immodest or unpunctual. Without another word, he tossed off the last of his tanna and glanced over at Jurgen, who had been discreetly listening in.
Jurgen coughed deferentially. “I’ve remembered some pressing documents from the other Commissars aboard I really should see to, sir.”
“Then please do, Jurgen. I’ll swing by when this meeting is over.”

As Cain made his way down to the docking bay, the Astartes delegate stepped forth from his Thunderhawk to greet Lokris’ staff. A small group of the Space Marines had elected to join the expedition commander personally, to keep them appraised of the Astartes’ parallel actions, and to advise. Leading them was Chaplain Elysius of the Salamanders, freshly returned from Armageddon. The ship’s Captain bowed reverently before the towering black-armored Marine. “I am honored by your presence, Lord Astartes. Welcome to the Just Account.”
“It is good to be here,” Elysius rumbled. The accoutrements of his office clanked against his armor and the glimmering black-and-gold Power Fist he had fitted over the stump of his left arm. The Sigil of Vulkan, a relic of Vulkan’s first foray into the galaxy hung from his belt, alongside his Crozius and Recompensor.
“If I may, Lord Astartes, many of our men are curious to know…what is YOUR reaction to the rumor and speculation regarding the Emperor’s…ah…apotheosis?” the Captain asked, leading the small Salamander delegation forwards.
“My reaction?” Elysius asked. “My reaction is that the Emperor understands better than any man ever could the meaning of what it is to sacrifice. If that is what he had to do, then he was right to do it. The return of our own Primarch is of much greater concern.”
“So the rumor is true? Lord Primarch Vulkan himself has arisen?” the Captain asked in awe.
“Not ‘arisen.’ He never fell. He has simply returned to us,” Elysius said with grim satisfaction. “I had a feeling I might live to see it.”
“Then…I would understand if you wished to return to your homeworld and greet him in person,” the Captain said.

Elysius was touched by the gesture. “No, thank you, Captain. The trip from here to Nocturne is over four months. By the time I arrive, he would probably have already left to rejoin our brothers in the field. My place is here, assisting your own men in overcoming the xenos filth,” he said, placing quiet loathing emphasis on the last word. The Captain nodded respectfully.
“I am honored once more.” Before they arrived at the exit, however, the door opened, and the various Regimental advisors of the four Guard units stationed aboard came through. The Captain slowed his pace and stuck a hand out to introduce them individually. “May I present the leaders and advisors of the Guard regiments stationed with us?”
“Indeed,” Elysius replied, inclining his head slightly to them. The Captain dutifully rattled off their names and designations, stopping on Cain, who was last to arrive.
“…and Commissar Cain, currently attached to the General’s staff.” To the surprise of all, Cain stuck his hand out for the Marine to shake. Elysius blinked under his mask, but took it in stride, returning the gesture.
“I look forward to serving alongside you, Chaplain. Though I fear my role here is an advisory one,” Cain added with all the wistfulness he could fake.

“Understandable,” the Chaplain replied. He addressed the Captain with his next question. “Captain, have you collected all of the forces to be aligned with us on our assignment?”
“We have, my Lord Astartes. However, the General thought that the news from Terra might have been severe enough to warrant a delay,” the Captain said, carefully hiding his disgust. It was HIS bloody ship, after all.
“I concur,” Elysius said blithely. “The entire expedition could well be called off.”
“Let us hope our journeys were not wasted,” the Captain said. He made to reopen the pressure doors into the interior of the ship, when a sudden blast of air nearly bowled him over. The light around him tinged purple as something massive and orange suddenly appeared on the deck behind them.
Elysius spun on his heel, Power Fist charging up, but the sight he beheld was completely unexpected. A colossal daemon had emerged from thin air, a wall of fading purple mist surrounding it like a halo. The huge creature stared around the bay as if searching for something, until its beady eyes settled on the Salamander contingent.
“OH WOW, HOW DID YOU GUYS BEAT ME HERE?”

Elysius pulled the Crozius from his belt and ignited it, charging at the daemon without another word. The daemon seemed to sigh and slammed one massive hand into the deck plating, sending the black-armored Salamander sprawling. “YEAH, YEAH, KNOCK IT OFF, I’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS ALREADY WITH HELBRECHT.” Elysius rolled to his feet, scooping up his weapon, and made to resume his charge, when he suddenly hesitated. He glanced at the Crozius in his hand, completely agape. It hadn’t extinguished when he dropped it. He stared up at the still-immobile daemon as the Guard advisors drew their own weapons.
“Your…Holiness?” Elysius managed. The various Guard personnel slowed their charge as the massive daemon chuckled.
“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH.” The Crozius extinguished in Elysius’ hand. The Chaplain lowered his weapons, staring up at the Emperor’s new form.
“My…my Liege…he dropped to a reverent knee as the moment overwhelmed him. The psykers amongst the Guard group – the sane ones, anyway – followed suit, as the Commissars, for the most, looked confused, unable to read the Warp as the others could.
“OH GET UP. I’M HERE BECAUSE I UNDERSTAND WE HAVE WORK TO DO.” Elysius stood, his human hand shaking.
“I…we are at your service, my Liege.”
“GRAND. HEY, WHERE’S GENERAL LOKRIS?”
“Reviewing the holomessage that described your…ah…transformation, my Lord God,” the Captain said, the subtext of the conversation dawning on him at last. At the holy title being spoken aloud, the others seemed to catch on to what was happening.

“ALL RIGHT. WELL, THEN, I CAN TELL YOU ALL NOW. I’M HERE BECAUSE I’M ASSUMING COMMAND OF THIS EXPEDITION.” The entire contingent erupted in consternation, alternating between the shock and revulsion most were feeling at the Emperor’s new form, and the joy his announcement caused. “OF COURSE I’VE NEVER ACTUALLY FOUGHT TYRANIDS BEFORE, CERTAINLY NOT IN SPACE. THEREFORE, I WILL STILL NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE.”
“And I will be honored beyond belief to provide it, my Liege,” Elysius said, slamming his Power First against his pauldron. “However, I must point out that I am not the only veteran of the Tyrannic Wars present. I am sure the counsel of the General’s other advisors would be of great benefit.”
Cain, already agape at the spectacle before him, glanced at the Chaplain in sudden, horrified realization. Before he could say a word, however, the Emperor asked the obvious question. “OH? GOOD TO HEAR. WHOM DO YOU HAVE IN MIND, ASTARTES?”
Elysius gestured at the group of Guard advisors, singling none out. “I did not. I simply wish to state that we are all at your disposal in this effort, my Liege.”
The Emperor’s eyes raked across the group, lingering on Cain for a terrible moment. After the longest second of all time, he looked away, and Cain nearly passed out. “I’M SURE.”

“CAPTAIN, WHEN ALL YOUR SHIPS ARE ASSEMBLED, LET ME KNOW. I HAVE…OH, NICE OF YOU TO JOIN US, GENERAL.” Lokris came charging in, skidding to a halt when he saw the massive Emperor.
“Y…what the HELL is…” Lokris managed, staring at the daemon in front of him. He looked wildly from side to side, trying to find a single soldier shooting at it, before the Captain cleared his throat.
“Lokris. You’re a bit late.”
“This…why is there a daemon on the ship?!” Lokris yelled.
“That would be the Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind,” the Captain said. Lokris’ eyes went wide as dinner plates, staring up at the Emperor, who managed to restrain his impulse to wave. The General regained his composure remarkably fast.
“…All right, then.” He bowed formally, before rising and repeating Elysius’ offer of assistance. “How may I serve?”
“EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO DO BEFORE, BUT I WILL BE DIRECTING YOUR FORCES IN PERSON. THE TYRANIDS ARE SIMPLY NOT PERMITTED TO OVERWHELM THE IMPERIUM ANY MORE THAN THEY HAVE ALREADY DONE.”

“Our standing orders are to engage the bioships heading for the brewing conflict in the Ork empire, my Liege,” Elysius said carefully.
“THAT’S GOOD. WHAT I’M SAYING IS THAT I WILL BE LENDING PERSONAL ASSISTANCE. ON THE GROUND. I CAN’T HELP YOU WIN THE SPACE BATTLE.”
“I see. I speak for all our warriors when I say that we are honored,” Elysius said, bowing again.
The Emperor’s eyes darted back to Cain for a moment. “I KNOW.” His eyes returned to the Captain. “SIR, IF YOU WOULD TAKE US OUT AS SOON AS ALL SHIPS ARE ACCOUNTED FOR? I WILL…MEET YOU THERE.”
“Honored, my Liege,” the Captain said, beaming. He tapped the commbead in his ear and issued orders, whispering urgently. The Emperor vanished with a CRACK of displaced air; again, nearly bowling the assemblage over.
As soon as he was gone, most of the Guard officers gave in to their failing knees, with several leaning on bulkheads for support. “That was…new,” Lokris muttered, running his hand over his brow. “I guess that puts the rumors to rest, at least.”
“Then we must ensure we depart as soon as possible,” Cain said, stilling his own discomfort.
“Yes, yes of course,” the Captain said briskly, shaking himself back to reality. “Bridge, take us out as soon as the last few transports are accounted for.”

Elysius straightened, slowly shaking his head, Vulkan’s Sigil tapping against his armor. “That was…I will never forget this moment.”
“Indeed,” Lokris said. “I wonder…what role will he take in the ground battle?”
“Whatever he chooses,” Cain said, relying on humor, as ever, to cover up his shock. “I expect we’ll be hard-pressed to keep up when the shooting starts.”
The commbead in Lokris’ ear crackled for a moment. He pressed it, listening, as Cain and Elysius surreptitiously tuned in. “General, Captain Varas, the Warp around is shifting rapidly,” the Navigator said urgently. “A Warp pathway is forming, between us and the rendezvous point.”
“The Emperor’s might clears our way,” Elysius rumbled. “We should obey, and follow him into battle.”
“I wonder if, given that his presence will so dramatically tip the scales, he might elect to divert some forces elsewhere? Perhaps broaden the net, so to speak?” Cain asked aloud. “We can target more parts of the hive fleet’s ground forces, in more systems at once, if the Emperor Himself is reinforcing us.”
“I hope not,” Lokris said. “We’ll be stretched thin enough as it is. Besides, several worlds in the cordon are still quite retrievable. Smaller forces, should they be pinned down, will be more likely to call down Exterminatus on a losing battle.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Cain said, his hopes of eluding yet another battle against the Tyranids fading away.

All right, kids, I'm all caught up. From here on out it's new material. Hope I didn't bury anyone in the wall of text?

>Punches hole in wall
>Steps through
>Dusts self off

Ready to go cap'n!

Who needs Sleep, there is EMPRASQUE TO READ.

Emprah reading cains mind, poor cain

>>18568606
Eh, his own Cabinet is basically full of sociopaths, murders, zealots, and mutants. A man as concerned with self-preservation as Cain is probably not all that much of a concern.

>>18568606

Hell the Emperasque making a point of saving his ass, then winking would probably be kinda funny.

6-111-001-M42
Tyranids are not of our worlds. They crawl and fly, from beyond the outermost edges of the Galaxy of Man, pulled towards us by gravity and hunger alike. Some of the Archmagos Biologus of the Mechanicum speculate them to be an unthinkably powerful alien bioweapon, perhaps unleashed as an act of desperation in another galaxy and spread beyond control. Others think them to be a form of gestalt community, with “clans” exchanging biomass and genes as they congregate in galaxy after galaxy, drifting around the Local Group, devouring all in their path.
Whatever their origin, they are as alien as anything in this galaxy untainted by Change. Their minds are a gestalt, as alien and vast as their very species, and as immune to the powers of the Warp as anything that lives can be.
The Emperor found this to be, at most, a mild inconvenience.
The massive, scaly Lord of Man stood on the edge of a ragged cliff, staring out at a massive battlefield. The ground was ringed with small cemicircles of sandbags and concrete blocks, lined with shallow trenches, and coated in dead fleshborers. Heaps of dead Guardsmen and PDF dotted the field, as the Rippers and Hormigaunts dragged corpses together for digestion. Shrapnel and shot sent up tiny puffs of dust wherever they landed, or gauged flesh where they found their mark. The Guard and PDF were clearly putting up a good fight, but they were never going to hold out until Elysius and Lokris arrived.

If Blood angels primarch is back, we need this manly mother fucker to return to us. That being said. MY BODY IS READY FOR MORE.

>>18568813
Pius coming back to life would be the worst thing I could do. His sacrifice is the only thing that make the sacrifices of the Emperor and Sanguinius meaningful.

The horrible shriek of a Manticore missile salvo broke through the din and clamor of battle. A mushroom of red flame erupted at the edge of the battlefield, incinerating the growing digestor pool, even as the last few lines of Guardsmen fell back before the encroaching waves of chitin.
“WELL, THAT’S QUITE ENOUGH,” the Emperor said, cricking his neck and bracing against the rock wall. With a minute effort, he sent a ravening beam of purple energy cascading over the battlefield. The first several groups of Tyranids evaporated, even as the Hive Mind awoke to the threat on its flank. A few Guard survivors noticed what was going on, and screamed orders and coordinates into their voxes, presumably retargeting those Manticores. The Emperor wasn’t greatly concerned, shifting his aim away from them, into the packed hordes of Tyranid creatures.

bump

>wake up,
>Open /tg/ catalog
>see Emperasque.
>Give up all productivity for rest of the day

I was hoping i could use this new image...

I LIVE
>>18573208
...oh lawd

>browsing /tg/ over lunch
>TALES OF THE EMRAHASQUE
>mfw

.

Sorry for the delay, folks, phone tag. ;_;

Down to it. I've not done this for a while, so bear with me. When last we left our hero, he was scaring the shit out of Ciaphas Cain, I believe.

The bioforms reacted instantly, throwing themselves at the Emperor, with several dozen Vultures and Gargoyles swooping down from above. The Emperor swept his gigantic arm above his head, swatting the flying beasts with clear disdain. “BEGONE, BEASTS.” The rearmost creature – no less than a carnifex – spat an orb of bioplasma forth, splattering over the ground at the Emperor’s feet. In response, he shifted his baleful gaze in its direction, sending it staggering from a wave of psychic energy.
The Guardsmen below gaped at the carnage. “What…a daemon? Firing on Tyranids? What’s happening?” one of them managed, watching in awed terror as the battle played out.
“Don’t be distracted, soldier!” their Commissar barked. “Keep firing on the ‘Nids, we’ll use the Deathstrike on the Daemon. It’s the only way to be sure.”
“…But, sir, we’re less than two hundred meters from that daemon,” the soldier responded slowly.
“And taking a Greater Daemon with us will be worth it!” the political officer roared, firing his laspistol at the horde of Rippers that had kept up the assault on the Imperial position. “We can go before the Throne with heads held high knowing we bested that thing! Now FIGHT!”
The Emperor finished off the pack of Tyranids nearest him, nodding in satisfaction. “A GOOD START.” Abruptly, he noted the sound of the lasgun fire from the Imperial position had ended, as the last of the Rippers fell to concentrated lasgun fire.

Immediately, the Guardsmen switched their fire to the Emperor, scattering lasbolts over him. He sighed irritably. “STOP IT. DON’T YOU GUYS WATCH THE NEWS?”
“Ignore his wiles, men! Turn your thoughts to victory!” the Commissar cried, flourishing his chainsword overhead.
“I MEAN IT.” The Emperor glanced upwards, wondering if maybe the regional commanders would be more reasonable. His eyes widened in astonishment as a distant metal pinprick resolved itself overhead. “…YOU CALLED IN A NUKE ON YOUR OWN POSITION? WHAT THE FUCK?” He stared at the Guardsmen, still apparently quite willing to die to take him down. “OK, MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE CALLED AHEAD.” He tilted his head back to point at the missile, firing his energy beam once more, vaporizing the Deathstrike before it could come in range. Deciding to leave before they could get off another salvo, he opened a rift and moved through, the Guardsmen still firing in his wake.
Floating through the Warp towards the Imperial command post, the Emperor reflected that maybe he should have identified himself BEFORE joining the fight, and resolved to do so as soon as he arrived.

All right, now to journey to a new location, and spend some quality time with the last faction to which the story has not yet traveled.

9-112-001-M42

Isha stood on the shores of the tiny inland sea and smiled. The Webway portal she had utilized to travel to Menhsamesh was situated in a cunningly disguised waterway fortress, and the first thing she had done upon bidding Ulthwé farewell was walk to the sea.
Her guard of several Exodite riflemen and the Knight leader stood distant, keeping a respectful watch, as Isha leaned back and enjoyed the fresh salt breeze across her scarred skin, at ease. At length, she turned and beckoned one of them over, and she obligingly trotted over to her Goddess.
“My lady?” she asked, as she came within range.
“Tell me…how many Webway gates are there on this world?” Ishas inquired, glancing back at the rock fortress.
“Only two, my lady, one here and one at the Infinite Dome,” the guard said reverently.
“That being…?”
“Ah, the place where the World Hub is stored,” the guard hastened to explain. “It is to be used only for trade and travel.”
“Of course,” Isha said, returning her gaze to the sea. The guard pressed on.
“May I ask why, my lady?”
“Because I expect that I will need to visit other worlds from time to time, and am led to believe that your people make little use of them,” Isha said.
“Very true, my lady. We are nomads in our ways.” The guard nodded once to acknowledge Isha’s silent dismissal and turned, moving back to the others.

>>18575215

Ye gods, you're back! with a lack of Witch-bounce'an, I'd thought /tg/ was dead for me.

>>18575442
Oh, I'm always here, posting sans-tripcode, just not writing as much as I used to.

And I'm sorry this is taking me so long, Lexicanum's servers are down so it's hard to do research.

>>18575492

Oh, yeah, I've seen you around. But the Emps hasn't! I've needed a good ol' dose of CAPSLOCK FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE.

Nearly ten kilometers away, in a high cliff overlooking the spectacle, a pair of optic magnifiers fell to the ground and shattered, dropped from trembling hands. An alien, clad in dark metals and human skin, sank to his knees, shivering in realization and horror…and a slowly building hatred. The alien clenched his wiry fists, crushing shards of his instrument until they cut into his alabaster flesh, and dark blood oozed down the contours of his skin. A myriad of hateful thoughts tore through him, a long-dormant hatred unleashed upon his sight.
The alien slowly stood, glaring furiously at the spot where the Warp Goddess stood, his thin lips pressed so tightly together that they drained of blood. A single word drifted through, his voice strained with spite and rage.
“…bitch…”
With a *crack*, a slender black line appeared behind him, and he jumped back through it, teleporting to – and THROUGH – the Webway gate from which he had slipped, unseen, moments before Isha had. In moments, he stood in the middle of the bustling port of Commorragh, his home, and the most depraved realm in all of the galaxy. He slipped between towering spires of dark metal into a tiny Webway gate, emerging instantly in the courts of one of the towers high above. All around him echoed the sounds and psychic emanations of the tortured slaves he had brought with him on previous trips into the real universe, and as much as he would have liked to indulge in them under any other circumstance, he no longer had the time.

Aaaaand once more I must Emergency car-saving.

Welp, doesn't look like I'll be getting an early night tonight. WORTH IT.

I live. Writing Dark Eldar is a bit tricky since, to the best of my knowledge, only one book was written, even partially, from their perspective.

>>18576582

Try all the self superiority of Eldar, plus rape, cocaine and GOING FAST.

He halted before a hovering symbol in the middle of the room, which he thrust his bloodied hand into with distaste. Within moments, a cruel visage shimmered into being above the symbol glowering at him. “What the hell do you want, Kor-rk?” the hologram spit. “I was in the middle of something.”
“Your forgiveness, Overlord. I come with most terrible news,” the alien said, bowing obsequiously. “I have returned from the Exodite world of Menhsamesh-”
“Which is indeed terrible, for you, should you interrupt my ministrations for such trivialities again,” the hologram snapped, reaching for some unseen controls.
“-which is currently playing host to a very important guest,” Kor-rk finished. The hologram paused to glare.
“And whom, if I may ask, are they hosting?”
“Lady Isha.” The room nearly fell silent as the giggling torturers around its exterior halted to stare. A few slaves made a break for the exit, and were swiftly cut down. As their pitiful screams ended, the holographic man stared, his mouth tightening.
“And you can confirm this?” he asked.
“I can.”
“Then do so,” the holograph said, his truculence vanishing, replaced by something far more unnerving: calm, absolute loathing. “I shall…prepare.” After a moment of contemplative silence, the holographic man stretched his leathery arm towards the unseen controls, and paused again. He glanced at the monitor, his pitiless eyes searching. “You did well to bring this to me. Bring it to no other.” The holograph died.
And in a far-off tower, Asdrubael Vect sat back in his chair, and clenched a fist.

The Emperor sighed internally as the prostrate Imperial Guard commanders arrayed before him offered endless variations of “I’m really, really sorry,” to him, with several openly weeping in shame or fear. “GUYS, REALLY, KNOCK IT OFF. I CAN’T HAVE SOLDIERS THAT FALL TO THEIR KNEES EVERY TIME I STOP BY.”
“Nor can you have soldiers who call in nuclear strikes on you, my Lord God,” one young officer wept.
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, COLONEL, ENOUGH APOLOGIZING. AM I GOING TO HAVE TO GO OUT THERE AND SEE WHAT THE BATTLEFIELD LOOKS LIKE IN PERSON, OR ARE YOU GOING TO DO AS YOU’RE TOLD AND SHOW ME YOUR MAPS?”
The Guard officers nearly fell over themselves to show the Emperor their holographic maps of the field, eagerly and obsequiously noting every detail. The Emperor, who had designed the system, largely ignored them, instead drinking in the details of the battle for himself. He paused, however, upon noting a solid return on the radar map that had not been there before.
“HEY, IS THAT THING DRAWING POWER?” he asked, indicating the hard return with a massive claw.
“No, my Lord God. In fact, it’s completely inert,” the techpriest at the controls replied.
“THEN WHAT IS IT?”
“A glitch, in all likelihood,” the priest said. “It’s not there. Flybys reveal there to be nothing there.”
“HOW OLD IS THIS RADAR MAP?” the Emperor asked.
“One hour, seven minutes, fifteen point two seconds old,” the priest said. “Our radar systems were knocked offline by the shockwave of the detonating Deathstrike missile.”
“GET THEM BACK ONLINE AND RE-SCAN THAT SPOT AGAIN,” the Emperor instructed. “I THINK I KNOW WHAT THAT IS.”

>mfw this thread
Keep it up Someone else!

Thanks. I'll be breaking for dinner soon, but here's another chunk of scribbles to tide you over.

“May I ask, Omnissiah, what it is?” the priest asked carefully.
“I THINK IT MAY BE A WEBWAY GATE. THEY DON’T SHOW UP ON RADAR MAPS UNLESS THEY’RE ACTIVELY DOING SOMETHING, LIKE TRANSPORTING SOMEBODY IN AND OUT OF THE WEBWAY.”
“Eldar? Here? Fantastic,” the priest groused.
“WELL, WE MAY BE AT PEACE WITH THEM NOW, BUT I CAN’T SEE THEM COMING HERE FOR OUR BENEFIT, THAT’S FOR SURE.” The Emperor peered at the map, noting where the object lay. “ALL RIGHT, YOU KNOW NOW THAT GENERAL LOKRIS’ FLEET IS EN ROUTE WITH SALAMANDER BACKUP, AND I’LL BE HELPING YOU HERE UNTIL THEY ARRIVE, BUT BEFORE I HEAD OUT TO THE FRONT TO ASSIST YOUR MEN, I WANT TO GO SEE WHAT’S GOING ON THERE.”
“As you so desire, my Lord God,” the overawed Guard colonel said. “How may we assist?”
“A DIVERSION. THOSE MANTICORES RELOADED YET?”
“They have indeed, my Lord God. Where shall we target them?”
“ON THE GROUP OF TYRANIDS CLOSEST TO THE GATE, IF THAT’S WHAT IT IS. I’LL TELEPORT IN AND EXAMINE IT WHILE YOU’RE DOING THAT.” As soon as the colonel relayed the orders and the hailstorm of missiles slammed into the herd of Tyranids at the designated the coordinates, the Emperor suited actions to words, teleporting to within a few hundred feet of the sensor contact and examining it closely.

Reimploder.

Back.

Any critiques so far?

>>18578344
Needs more MOAR! of course. =]
Besides that you might like DL'ing a copy of the DE codex for more cultural notes like names, traditions, tactics, etc.
>>18576661
has the basic gist of it down. DE are, or aspire to be, on the ragged edge of Everything all the time. I suspect their actual effective leaders are the ones who can delay gratification the most successfully.
Besides that I'd like to see more downtime with Isha; she gives me the warm and fuzzies when she walks around enjoying life.
As for technical critique your word use and scene evocation are solid as always, and I like the description of the Tyranids and the AdMech theories on their origins.

“…HMM. NO VISIBLE MARKS HERE, BUT…” he said under his breath, glancing around. “BOY, THIS SPOT RIGHT HERE SURE IS PERFECT FOR A WEAPONS TESTING FACILITY! THERE’S CLEARLY NOTHING OF ANY STRATEGIC VALUE HERE, NO SIR! JUST A BIG OPEN STRETCH OF ROCK I CAN HAVE BULLDOZED WITH NO CONSEQUENCES! HEY COLONEL, GO AHEAD AND START THAT BARRAGE NOW!” he yelled into the air, speaking to nobody in particular. Right on cue, a few of the Manticore missiles detonated a few klicks away, casting a red pall over the tableau.
For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen at all. Just when the Emperor thought that his little experiment would bear no fruit, however, a Dark Eldar raider vessel shot out of nowhere to skim past him, its crew desperately firing splinter weapons at his daemonic body. The Emperor watched with interest as the vessel vanished into thin air with a shower of sparks, right where the radar map had said the Gate was concealed.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT WORKED,” the Emperor said to himself, filing the incident away for further scheming. He turned from the scene to rejoin the battle, already pondering what use he could make of this newfound knowledge.

All right, I'm sorry I slowed down so much, I'm just very distracted. I am working on this, I'm just sort of in a corner right now.

4-113-001-M42
Vulkan tilted his head back, watching the molten rock of Mount Deathfire pour out of its maw, and let the memories flow back to him. He had been standing not far from there, hammers in his hands, when he first fought the Dustwraiths, driving their foul presence from Nocturne once and for all. He wasn’t far from where the shamans had ordered the Sanctuaries be built, and the foundations of true Nocturne civilization began.
He’stan stood a few paces behind, allowing his Master his silent memory. Ir’Shal and He’Stan were onboard Prometheus Station, preparing it for Vulkan’s return, but the Pilgrim had felt the need to be with his Primarch on this occasion.
Vulkan glanced over his shoulder, down the sides of the scarred walls of Hesiod, to where a massive throng of Nocturneans had gathered, eagerly assembling for a chance to witness their ruler-in-absentia, since Vulkan had never rescinded his title before leaving for the Eye.
A few of the Chapter’s finest had already been in Hesiod, recruiting, when the Primarch had arrived. Though each and every one had wished to greet their Lord in person, he had requested the chance to reacquaint himself with his home as soon as he could. None had objected.

Vulkan slowly ran his hands over the rock at the top of the wall, frowning slightly. “Cracks. Everywhere.”
“We were attacked, here on our home soil,” He’Stan said. “A traitor to the Chapter, a former Lexicanum turned to Chaos. He found a Seismic Cannon STC in the soul of a Rogue Trader he ‘met.’ He used it to bombard us from orbit.”
“A Seismic gun…that explains why Deathfire seems to have gained a new vent since I saw it last,” Vulkan said, squinting at the ragged hole in the gargantuan volcano.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Sire, Master Vel’cona, our Chief Librarian, broke said traitor’s spine over an anvil in the Vault you carved into the mountain, where a book from the Tome was kept,” He’Stan said drily. “He was trying to steal it, you see. To use its lore to resurrect a Black Chaplain whom he revered.”
“I didn’t put an anvil there,” Vulkan said, thinking back.
“Well…when Vel’cona had looked again, it was gone.”
Vulkan shook his head. “Not by my will. Perhaps the Emperor’s. I was far too busy dying for such an intervention. I’m no psyker, anyway…” he added under his breath.
“In any case, the traitor’s massive fleet shattered against the might of our own, though at horrible cost. Fifty Fire Drakes lived through it.”
“Out of 120…” Vulkan said heavily. “Well. I can see to tracking him down once we rebuild from the losses suffered in this Armageddon place.”

He’Stan was silent for another moment. “Well…my Lord, if I may, your public awaits,” he added, a touch of humor coloring his words. “The people wish to see their King.”
“There’s a title I haven’t heard in a long, long time,” Vulkan said, smiling despite himself. “Very well.” He turned from the endless plains of ash to face the people in the courtyard below. The dull roar of conversation and whispered excitement swelled as the people saw his fiery gaze sweep over them, taking in every detail. He hadn’t been planning a speech, but under the circumstances…
“People of Nocturne. I suppose, first and foremost, I should thank you for your patience,” he started, “ten thousand years is a hell of a coffee break.” While some of the people in the crowd looked baffled or even offended, most laughed, hesitant and confused. This was clearly not what they had been expecting. “I eschew the pointless formality of doctrine when interacting with the people amongst whom I lived and learned. I save such things for those alongside whom I enter the fires of war. You, my friends, are above that. It is for you, and all the people of the Imperium, for whom we, the Salamanders, eternally fight. In time I expect I will make my way to the Sanctuaries…all of them…and take the time to see you, see our home world, see what has changed and what hasn’t. For now, let me say this: it is a relief like you cannot imagine to be home again, and to be reminded firsthand of just what it is I fight for.” Several of the people in the crowd, wearing the green armbands of the civil militia, saluted, as the majority of the crowd roared their approval and anticipation. Vulkan let the sounds echo around him for a few seconds, before waving a massive gauntlet for silence.

He’Stan nodded his head in respect as Vulkan walked past him, into the crowd, helmet clipped to his belt, letting well-wishers and worshippers approach him and touch his armor, ask him questions, or simply let their emotions overwhelm them, welcoming him home with teary eyes. A soft ping sounded from He’Stan’s helmet vox, and he tapped the stud with his tongue. “He’Stan.”
“Forgefather, the Astropath has just relayed a message from Segmentum Command to be relayed to Lord Vulkan immediately,” the serf on the other side said.
He’Stan looked over the crowd, Vulkan towering over the tallest of the adoring humans by nearly a meter. “Give it a moment. He’s meeting family.”
“Yes, sir,” the serf replied. After a nother few minutes of letting Vulkan greet the crowd (under the watchful eyes of several Seventh Company Scouts), He’Stan politely tapped his Primarch on the shoulder.
“Sire?”
“Right.” Vulkan gestured the crowd to part, and it did, as he and the Forgefather walked back up to the top of the wall, where the crowd could not be harmed by the teleporters’ harsh aftereffects.

>>18580438
was too busy reading the glorious wall of texts

>>18580438

Sorry dude I'm only reading this at uni so its spotty when I can pay attention or not not to forget the fact that some of us are ausfags!

>>18580528
>>18580453
Nice to know. I guess I just remember the first few threads where I contributed less than ten percent of all posts.

Morning Bump

Afternoon bump for the bump throne

Well, it's still morning here, but thanks anyway.

I live, I guess. More phone tag in the future, but I can do a bit of writing here and there. If I had known how busy I was going to be, I would have put this off.

He’Stan nodded his head in respect as Vulkan walked past him, into the crowd, helmet clipped to his belt, letting well-wishers and worshippers approach him and touch his armor, ask him questions, or simply let their emotions overwhelm them, welcoming him home with teary eyes. A soft ping sounded from He’Stan’s helmet vox, and he tapped the stud with his tongue. “He’Stan.”
“Forgefather, the Astropath has just relayed a message from Segmentum Command to be relayed to Lord Vulkan immediately,” the serf on the other side said.
He’Stan looked over the crowd, Vulkan towering over the tallest of the adoring humans by nearly a meter. “Give it a moment. He’s meeting family.”
“Yes, sir,” the serf replied. After a nother few minutes of letting Vulkan greet the crowd (under the watchful eyes of several Seventh Company Scouts), He’Stan politely tapped his Primarch on the shoulder.
“Sire?”
“Right.” Vulkan gestured the crowd to part, and it did, as he and the Forgefather walked back up to the top of the wall, where the crowd could not be harmed by the teleporters’ harsh aftereffects. As soon as they were clear, he triggered his beacon, and both Astartes disappeared in a flash. They reappeared on the hangar deck of the Prometheus, where Tu’Shan was waiting.

Man, it sure is nice to see this again. Get back to work, SE!

>>18584066
>Get back to work, SE!
Funny you should say that...
I just - as in ten minutes ago - got a job offer for a one-year contract.

You think my Emperasque threads were scarce before...

>>18584089
Every day with an Emperasque thread is a blessing.
Every day without is a day spent waiting and hoping.
Awesome news though. The Emperasque protects!

>first see the devs are working on chapter master after all
>now I find an emperasque thread
>mfw I don't have an appropriate image to express mfw

The Chapter Regent saluted as Vulkan stepped off of the pad, looking about. All across the huge chamber, which he noted looked as if it had been repaired in stages – and quite recently – serfs and Battle-brothers snapped to, saluting or slamming their gauntlets across their pauldrons. Several of the Salamanders stepped forth, kneeling reverently, as Vulkan’s gaze passed them, bowing their heads in respect.
Vulkan let them. He knew how badly the Chapter had missed him in his interminable confinement. After acknowledging their reverence, he gestured for them to rise, noting that the group looked rather harried. Several of the Chapter’s two hundred plus Thunderhawks were resting in repair cradles, too, surrounded by busily working repair serfs, and a few Techmarines.
Several serfs looked quite different from the others, their stances hunched and skin white as paper. Vulkan noted their presence and resolved to ask about them later.

________


Sorry
I'm leaving you with so little in this thread, but I have to go talk benefits with my new employer. I'll be back in several hours.

>>18580438

reach this post

>refresh

there is more!

I've requested archival at suptg just in case

>>18585943

forgot link

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/18567715

bumpan

I live.

And I have good news...
I GOT THE JOB HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE GRADUATION I AM GAINFULLY EMPLOYED HAHA

Not that this will stop me from writing outright. I'll live out this thread and keep going for a few more days.

>>18567806

Ban list? There's a fucking ban list in /tg/ now? WHAT YEAR IS IT? HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN GONE?

>>18587325
It's...complicated. We seem to have been put on a worldfilter list for other subboards, because the words that triggers it seem to be non sequitors.

>>18587408

I could see putting us on a word-filter list to keep space cadets from other boards from flooding into /tg/ but /tg/ is, with rare exceptions, usually a pretty awesome board.

>>18587253

WINNERRRR! Good for you.

>>18587253
Grats, mate!
As someone spending today LFWork I'm sympathetic of your former plight.

>>18587253

Nice. Congratulations man.

All right, as soon as the paperwork is done I can post a bit more.

The Master of Apothecaries stood patiently at the end of the room, waiting for his Lords to approach. As they grew near, the white-armored healer slammed his gauntlet against his pauldron in respect, beaming under his helmet. “My Lord Vulkan, Regent Tu’Shan. I cannot overstate the honor which you bestow on your Chapter, today, Sire.”
“Thank you, Apothecary.” Vulkan tilted his head at the expansive array of nartheciae on the Apothecary’s gauntlets and belts. “Expecting a fight?”
“Indeed not, Lord. The Emperor himself has instructed that the Chapter be made ready for battle as soon as our losses at Armageddon are replenished,” the Apothecary explained. “In fact, the Lord of Fourth is even now preparing the Column of Fire for immediate sortie. Second Company’s numbers are replenished in full by a new batch of Scouts, and depart for Cyldrim at midnight. He was quite disappointed to learn he would miss your return,” the Apothecary added, shrugging.
“I will make a visit to the vessel before they depart,” Vulkan said. “I do not recognize its designation.”
“It is the Saturnine-pattern Battle Barge that holds the flag while the Flamewrought and the Hammer of Vulkan are in for repairs, Lord,” Tu’Shan added.
“Just how many bloody ships did you name after me?” Vulkan asked with a chuckle. An awkward silence greeted his question. Vulkan slowly raised his eyebrows.
“…Many, Lord,” the Apothecary supplied. “It is a gesture of respect from the Lord of the Burning Skies.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Vulkan said good-naturedly. “Well. My quarters. I assume you have some picked out for me?” he asked.
“Well, we thought we would give you a choice, Lord,” Tu’Shan said. “The Chalice has returned, and one of the Fire Drakes has also offered up his own room.”
“I would prefer to rest on my ship, I think,” Vulkan decided. “I’ve missed that old tub.”
“It was the first of the Artefacts to be recovered, Lord, shortly before the Mantle,” He’Stan said, from his silent position behind the others. “We’ve been crafting Terminator armor aboard ever since.”
“I should hope so,” Vulkan said with approval. “Tell me, was my decision to limit the Companies ever overridden?”
“Er, what do you mean?” Tu’Shan asked in confusion.
“Their size. One hundred twenty brothers per company, plus a Company commander each, plus sixty scouts,” Vulkan said.
“Oh, no, we left it as it was, as a reminder of the losses we suffered at Isstvan,” Tu’Shan said.
“Fair enough.” Vulkan seemed to lose himself in memories. He’Stan asked the question he knew all of them had been burning to ask.
“My Lord…how DID you escape Isstvan?”

Ahhhhh it's a good day that has Someone Else wielding his pen.
I am pleased, and thank you as always SE.
Now I nap. For I have far to go, and little hope to go on, before I am employed again.
Oh, feedback! More scenery porn. A little more time spent illuminating the scenery is worthwhile for drawing the reader in further. Don't worry about fucking up the canon; it's virtually self-fucking all by itself.

>>18589051
Better sit down for this, brothers. This is gonna be a long story.

>>18589179
For Job-findan: Google the following terms:

Aerotek
Kelly
Adecco
Med-Scribe

Four huge work placement agencies. I got seven interviews and the job I have now through them alone. Twice what I got through the papers and Craigslist, Monster, Careerbuilder, Jobs.com, JobCrank, and JobSearch -COMBINED-.

>>18589227
Hey, cool.
Thanks mang.

“Bleeding out in Corax’s arms,” Vulkan said darkly. “Even as I rallied the Drakes for a push for the bunker, a group of Renegade Iron Warriors Assault Terminators opened fire on the squad that was with me. My Drakes forced them back with a set of Multimeltas we had brought with us, and the renegades hit us with long-range grenades. The shock from one nearly…” Vulkan looked down at his left arm and flexed his fingers. “…nearly took my arm off. Corax took a hit square on the plate, knocked him on his ass. A Raven Guard Apothecary…can’t remember him ever introducing himself…he hauled me up, propped Corax up on a chunk of a tank. I fell back down, and blacked out as Corax caught me. I woke up on a Loyalist Death Guard frigate burning hard for Terra.”
“Death Guard?” He’Stan asked in surprise.
“Of all the Traitor Legions save the World Eaters, they were the one with the most loyalists left in them,” Vulkan said, shaking the memory away. A loud *clang* echoed through the huge hanger as a pair of Thunderhawk Transporters settled down on their refueling cradles, and the servitors attending the cradles slid fuel hoses into place. Vulkan watched them for a moment, enjoying the distraction. “Of course, we had…maybe eight hundred men left alive in the entire Legion after that mess. Maybe fifty of which were actually battle-ready. We raced for Terra, and arrived just as Jaghatai’s flagship broke Fulgrim’s carrier group. If I recall correctly, that was what drove Horus to drop his shields…he knew he couldn’t fight us off and have the strength to face Leman, Lion, and Roboute when they arrived.” He shook his head again, remorse coloring his basso murmur. “We won because we bluffed our numbers.”

Of course, that's just what he thinks. Lion knows why they really won. And he told Luther as much before he murdered him. But Vulkan, for all his selfless valor, is not a Void War strategist like Lion.

>>18589293
Ah, ok.

“Our history…varies somewhat, my Lord,” Tu’Shan said. “Some of our records insist that you created the Artefacts and disappeared immediately after the tumult of the Heresy. Other say you stayed for a thousand years first.”
“Then they are both wrong.” Vulkan clasped his hands together in front of his armored torso, noting the spots where it had been breached by the Tau pulse guns and wondering if he would have time to fix them before he was dispatched back to the front. “I stayed for a hundred years. I saw Corax flee for the Eye…Jaghatai vanish. I saw Leman follow after Corax, and of course…Rogal. Poor son of a bitch. After the Harrowing ended, and the Imperium started to reconquer all the of the worlds we lost to Horus, or to rebellion, or to the Harrow Beasts, I had simply had enough. I left the Artefacts I had created behind, and flew straight here after I hid them. The Tome…I had created that with the aid of the Earth Shamans who founded the Seven Cities, you know. I’m not a psyker myself. The Shamans of my village were far too old to become Space Marine Librarians, but some of them lived still, and we created the Tome together. One of them even knew the Gates of Infinity ability, and used it to leave my mark on a hundred worlds I had never visited.”
“Scoria,” Tu’Shan said with spite.
“Never heard of it, but it’s possible its name has changed.” Vulkan turned to face the brilliant orange shimmer of energy around the void shield relays protecting the station, as the great doors into the vacuum of space ground shut behind the Thunderhawks. “After we were done, I built seven of the Artefacts. The other two…the Chalice and the Eye…them I stole.”

“What.” Tu’Shan’s voice was a flat note of absolute disbelief. He’Stan’s jaw nearly fell out of his head.
“I stole them. Well. ‘Salvaged,’” Vulkan said, punctuating his last word with a shrug. “The Eye was a Space to Space Defensive Laser cannon from the Segmentum Tempestus I had retrieved on behalf of an Arch-Magos of the Mechanicum, who had, in the interim, joined with the Fabricator-General and sided with Horus. He had found records of an STC being used to create a great weapon and asked me to salvage it. By the time I had returned, Lorgar had already turned. I figure, hey, he doesn’t want to keep his giant space gun, I may as well keep it. The Chalice was a ship we actually shot down in the Crusade. It had belonged to a planet of humans who had refused to join the Imperium. I kept it after the battle, meaning to break it down and ship it piecemeal to Saturn for reverse-engineering. When Saturn’s shipyards were demolished by Abbadon in his retreat from Sol, I decided to rebuild it as a Forgeship and construct the Artefacts there.” He noted Tu’Shan’s naked shock with a smile. “What?”
“You…I mean, we figured you had had help with some of the Artefacts, but…” Tu’Shan said.
“Well, I DID go to the trouble of hiding them, and goodness knows they would have never worked again were it not for my repairs and upgrades,” Vulkan said. “So…after the Heresy ended and the Harrowing did too, and a hundred years passed, I flew here, had the Tome written, crafted or reappropriated the Artefacts, had them all hidden by Librarians sworn to silence, then took off for the Eye. The rest is history.”

Not sure what's up here, but I just saw the first post image and decided this image was on topic.

>>18589514

This story is what would happen if The Emperor summoned a Tarrasque, had it eat him, then possessed it as his new body and went off to get all the lost primarchs.

>>18589534
Yeah, that's...that's it. I'm spending more time with the Primarchs than Emps himself these days, but that's the gist of it.

Also, we just barreled past 105 pages!

“I see.” Tu’Shan allowed himself a moment to think of the rigors and fear to which his Primarch had been subjected as a plaything for daemons and shuddered. “Why Librarians?”
“Because at the time, it was policy for all Salamander Librarians to learn the Old Words. The language spoken amongst the psykers native to Nocturne. Nearly a tenth of the Tome was written in that language, and some of the passages related to the locations of other books and relics are in the Old Words,” Vulkan said. He frowned suddenly. “Surely that has not changed?”
“Well, Master Vel’cona, our Chief Librarian, does teach it to his designated successor,” Tu’Shan said. “And of course He’Stan and I are both fluent.”
“That is good. Such an important part of our history should be preserved.” Vulkan paused as the hangar doors ground open again, this time allowing an interceptor to swoop in, settling down on the pad. The Apothecary shielded his optical sensors with one hand, as the brilliant glare of the engine faded. “You are keeping busy, brothers.”
“Our ships returned from Armageddon in some disarray. The greenskins proved disgustingly resilient,” Tu’Shan said, pressing his finger against his helmet vox. The speaker buzzed in acknowledgement. “Lord, your shuttle has arrived to ferry you to the Chalice.”
“Superb.” The Primarch turned to the Apothecary, nodding a farewell, as the ship slid into the hangar, steam wafting from the ice forming on its wings. “Brother, I will see you later. I should see to my armor.”
“Of course, my Lord, do not allow me to delay you,” the Apothecary said. Vulkan walked aboard the shuttle’s ramp, and it lifted smoothly, turning to soar back into space, towards the distant forgeship.

>>18589672

>Posts a Descent reference

I knew there was a reason you and I got along

>>“What.” Tu’Shan’s voice was a flat note of absolute disbelief. He’Stan’s jaw nearly fell out of his head.
^.^
Win.

This is one of the thing I consistently like about this series: the Primarchs unveiling how their lives and times _aren't_ like the propaganda says, that all the skulls and bling and murder-pomp are actually a kind of psychological spackle for the credulous mind that covers indecision and improvisation and tremendous complexity.

Also. SoI to hold people over.

http://www.servantsoftheimperium.com/comic.php?comicid=115

Sorry I vanished for a few hours. Who knew starting a job involved so much photocopying?

Anyway, I'm done with the Salamanders for now. Anyone else the audience wishes to see participate?

>>18591140
Clearly Moar Eldar isn't a reasonable answer.
How about Dem Ultras?
Or more of Leman Russ (and Bjorn!). Seems like hes' got plenty to keep busy with.

>>18591296

Hmm. The Ultras...
Let's see. I don't really know much about Calgar and company past "Space Romans," but more adventures of Russ sounds cool.

>>18591338
For what it's worth: semi-Reasonable Marines. Calculating, faithful, solid Battle Brothers with a few rock-star personalities.
Marneous Calgar is the Big Bro of All Creation...almost. He's empathetic, courageous, unflaggingly enduring -the man's basically just a limbless torso outside his armor and that hasn't taken the humor out of his mien. That says a lot. He's also got genuine charisma and real affection for conventional Humanity and shows a surprising amount of respect for _anyone_ who's earned it.

Sicarious Cato is the rockstar. He's tactically brilliant, ludicriously brave, and damn near death itself with his signature longsword. He's also frighteningly tactically flexible, able to do damn near anything from Scouting to Armor actions.
Cato is, however, also a fantastic risk-taker. And while he's the fucking Ace of Spades his predicted eventual crash-and-burn will be the stuff of high tragedy.
IIRC Cato's the 2nd Company Captain.

Severus Agememnon is the 1st Company Captain, and basically is Calgar's second in command. He's stolid, stoic, and somewhat unremarkable. He's the expected next in line to be the Master of Macragge when Calgar finally passes on, and while Cato irks somewhat him rumors of them having a rivalry are generally exaggerated.

Lastly is Varro Tigurius the head chaplain. Surprisingly gaunt and moody for a Space Marine, Tigurius is a loner who prefers divining and his psychic studies to putting up with the mild-but-real anti-psyker bias the other Ultramarines show him. He and Calgar have a Caramon-and-Raistlin kind of friendship that helps keep him grounded in the more mundane aspects of being a Space Marine.

Lexicanum has more, and lots of it. Hope this helps. I'm leaving some characters out for brevity.

It does help, thanks.

I already started Russ storytime though.

>>18591620
Nae prob, mang.
Lots of room everywhere.

4-117-001-M42
“So I stabbed the fucker and took his mints,” Russ said, leaning back in his leather chair, telling outrageous lies to the assembled Rune Priests. He looked wistfully at his empty tankard, and a few serfs nearly fell over themselves refilling it. “And…well, that’s the story of how I met Roboute Guilliman.”
“Dare I ask how he would tell the story?” Bjorn asked from the corner of the room.
“Nope,” Russ said cheerfully.
“Aw. You never did let me have any fun.”
“Well, if you want to have a go at it,” Russ said, gesturing expressively at the crowd of Wolf Brothers.
“No, thanks,” Russ said quickly. “I’ve had enough storytelling for one decamillienium.”
“Well, then I guess the next one I should tell is the time Sanguinius and I fought against the largest Ork in recorded history,” Russ said, lining up the memory. “It was late in the Crusade. Very late. Maybe forty months, at most, before Lorgar went bad. The Emperor had left the Crusade for Terra, Horus was running the show, and there were almost ten thousand Space Wolves…” he started, as the younger Initiates leaned forward to listen, and the older Brothers tried not to. Bjorn’s optics drifted across the small hall in which they were gathered, looking over the changes Russ had wrought since his return. He had to approve.
Gone were the petrified wolves and pelts that had decorated the walls. Russ had declared them “macabre.” In their place were banners of the Subsectors in which the Wolves had won at least one battle during Bjorn’s lifetime. There were a lot of banners.

The ceiling was decorated with tiny blue chips of glass and metal, taken from one of the trophies in Russ’ room. They were relics, he had declared, of a prize he had wrested from the grip of Mortarion less than fifty years after the Heresy. What, precisely, that prize was, he had never made clear. Bjorn suspected that Russ simply liked the way they looked like stars.
A downright maudlin portrait of the Emperor (in his original body) and Russ standing together on the steps of the Palace with Rogal Dorn was tucked away in one corner, over a roaring fireplace. Several of the other rooms of the Fang (including some of the great Halls of the Wolf Brothers) had been nearly stripped bare, though of course Russ had been tactful enough to simply “request” that the offending decorations be replaced to his liking. In their place were coming new decorations, including an intact Eldar shuttle that Harald Deathwolf had captured during his glorious reign as Great Wolf; which would have had the Mechanicum spitting nails if anyone had bothered to tell them.
“…well, he jumped about ten feet straight up, not that that means much when he could fucking fly, but, details…” Russ continued, holding his audience rapt. Bjorn glanced through the door of the hall into the much larger room beyond, one of the Galleries of the Fang, where entire Great Companies could be fed or equipped as needs demanded. A ruckus from beyond caught his ear, and he trod over to the door to see what the commotion was.

Ultras dump pt 2:

The core theme of the Ultramarines is interdependence. More then any chapter the Ultras fight as a coherent force. Rather like their Roman roots and how a single Legionnaire is a solid basic soldier who's effectiveness is greatly increased by his Century the basic Ultramarine is an unremarkable Space Marine who fights like three from any other chapter when his battle brother has his back.
Calgar and Tigurius, Agememnon and Cato, Ventris and Pasanius -the Ultras are about mutual support and complementary strengths before being exceptional specialists at any role.
The exception to the rule is the Scout Company which functions entirely autonomously to the entire chapter command structure except for the chapter master himself.
It's not surprising that with that setup the Master of Scouts and Captain of the 10th Torias Telion is probably the finest living Scout anywhere given the importance of his charges.

About Calgar: besides being remarkably personable, Marneous Calgar is also the _only_ TT character to have the God of War rule (a tactics trait). He still makes mistakes, but his mistakes are as prepared for as anything else in his stratagems.
Also, and this is strictly my head-canon, but any campaign or war that sees Uriskar Creed and Marneous Calgar cooperating on it's prosecution is probably over before it starts for the opposition.
Abbadon might was well tear his own arms off and stay home.

Anyway! Yes, my fave flavor of marine as is probably obvious.

A fistfight between two Blood Claws was well under way, with several others quickly forming a ring around them, passing slips of paper to one who seemed to be in charge. The two Claws grappled until one managed to get the other in a headlock and twist, the other feebly thrashing before slamming their hand on the floor in defeat. Bjorn watched from his second-floor viewpoint as the seeming leader of the pack passed out the paper slips again, the losers grumbling and the winners exultant.
“Something wrong, old friend?” Russ called.
“Just Blood Claws in a scrap. Nobody’s dying,” Bjorn rumbled back.
“All right.” Russ turned back to the group of Wolf Brothers. “So, the greenskin’s nearly as tall as a Titan, because Orks get bigger as they get older, you know, and the green filth had controlled that chunk of space for fifteen million years. ‘Course, that was his weakness too. He was fast as hell, but he had a blind spot so huge you could park a truck in it. So, we did, basically. Sanguinius danced out of range, slashing at him to provoke him, while I dragged a multi-melta into position behind him and cook it off. Didn’t kill him, though, just baked off a few meters of green. So he turns around, screaming in rage, and Sanguinius actually lands on the fucker’s back and drives a sword through his brain. That offed him good enough.”
“Amazing. Are there still Orks that big?” one Long Fang asked.
“Within the realm of the Astronomican? Hell no, they were easy to detect from range with a Waaagh imprint that huge, we just killed them from space or in tank battles,” Russ said dismissively, waving his hand. “Outside the Imperium? Sure.”

Bjorn plodded over to the Wolf Father and hesitated, words weighing on him. “Boss, you have a second?”
Russ cocked an eyebrow, standing and following Bjorn out into the hall. A few men on the floor below stared up at the heroes, gesturing and pointing, but Bjorn’s demeanor was all Russ was watching. “What’s wrong, Bjorn?”
“I’m exhausted, Leman. I’m so tired I feel a bit ill,” Bjorn said heavily.
Russ stared at the Dreadnought, the implications of that statement cutting through his alcohol-induced buzz. “Well...you’ve been awake much longer than Dreadnoughts are supposed to be…”
“I have. So…so much longer,” Bjorn said. “I’ve been up since…well, since Angelos ‘received’ me two months ago. I need to rest.”
“I understand,” Russ said, feeling a sudden sense of loss. “You don’t mean anything permanent, do you? I remember some Venerable-”
“Cutting you off right there, boss,” Bjorn said. “No way. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just…tired.”
Russ nodded slowly, processing that. “Okay. Well…the Iron Priests have their instructions.” Russ squinted at his ancient friend, curiosity getting the better of him. “Do you dream under the needle?”
“No. It’s a deeper rest than that.”
“All right.” Russ struggled to find words. “Can you put it off a few more hours? There’s something I want to show you first.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Well, it’s Grimnir’s idea, actually. Meet us in the lowest Hall, near the armory, in, say, four hours?” Russ asked.
“All right, then. See you there, I guess,” Bjorn said wearily.

>>“I have. So…so much longer,” Bjorn said. “I’ve been up since…well, since Angelos ‘received’ me two months ago. I need to rest.”
...
I'm kind of touched. That's ....impacting.

True to his word, Bjorn plodded into the hall in four hours, where Grimnir and Russ were wating. Joining them were the requisite Iron Priests, to perform the sedation rituals…and nearly all of the other Wolves in the entire Fang.
“What the fuck?” Bjorn asked, before realizing what was happening. “Oh, you didn’t.” Russ shrugged. Grimnir smirked through his fangs.
“What can I say. Lord Father?” he asked of Russ. Russ nodded once and turned to the crowd.
“Lads, this, here, is Venerable Bjorn, the first Great Wolf after me. He’s stood at the helm of the Legion, or Chapter, for ten thousand years. A few months back, he sleepwalked his way to Cadia, where he had a grand old time, blasting the shit out of some of Abbadon’s little pets. Do you think he did a good job? He was half-asleep and all, remember.”
A chorus of laughter, assent, and general insults rose from the throng of Wolf Brothers. Russ shrugged theatrically. “I got there after he did, so I don’t know, but I’m told he made a fair accounting of himself. That said, lads, Bjorn here is feeling, well, a bit long in the tooth. Do you all think he’s lost it? Think he doesn’t have thirteen more Black Crusades – or one Second Great Crusade left in him?”
Thousands of the Wolf Brothers shouted the idea down, shaking their heads and jeering Abbadon;s chances of success.
“Lads, he’s ten thousand years old, his hearing’s gone a bit faint. Could you repeat what you just said?” Ruass asked mildly.
As once, the seven thousand Marines roared their disapproval, egging Russ on as Bjorn stood stock-still.
“Better.” Russ turned to Bjorn and grinned wanly. “They seem to disagree, my son. You still wanna go hang out with those dirty little kleptomaniacs?”

“…Hell no,” Bjorn said, nearly overcome. He amplified his own speakers, trying to respond to his brothers’ overwhelming support, but couldn’t quite do it. After several seconds of trying, he hung his armored torso in a brief moment of emotion, before straightening up. “My brothers, thank you. I’m glad to hear that. You have no idea what it means to me.” Words failed him again for a moment. “I can go to sleep confident,” he finished.
“There you go then,” Grimnir said. He raised his voice, gesturing silently at the doors behind him into the Fang Crypt as he did so. “Brothers, please show Elder Bjorn the way out.”
The Wolf Brothers cheered uproariously as Bjorn slowly walked through the doors into the crypt. The muted sound of their clamorous applause carried through the door as the Iron Priests tended to the artifice that had sustained Bjorn for nine thousand years. Bjorn turned his speakers back down, his voice synthesizer managing to convey his emotional upswell. “…Thanks, Boss. I really needed that.”
“Thank Grimnir,” Russ said with a grin. “His call. And frankly, old friend, just so we’re clear, if you ever ‘sleepwalk’ over to Cadia or anywhere else again, I will drag you back in irons. Clear?”
“You won’t need to,” Bjorn managed. “I’m…not going anywhere.” Iron Priests worked at the controls, prodding runes and whispering litanies. The sarcophagus slid into place with a metallic *click*.
Russ kept talking. “I’ll be here when you wake up next century, my friend.” The crypt sealed, and the tubes leading into it flooded with their orange mixtures, instantly rendering the ancient Space Wolf comatose. The Space Wolves walked out into the hall, silencing the cheering Brothers out of respect, as the door behind them locked, sealing Bjorn away, until the Space Wolves needed their guardian again.

>>18592985
My pleasure SE.
Great have you back at the TALES OF THE EMPERASQUE!

>>18592985

Always a pleasure my man. Keep up the good work.

>>18592956

I wondered when Bjorn was going to go back to sleep. He must have been knackered, especially when dreads sleep most of the time anyway.

M-might I request some more Sanguinor-Sanguinius? The revelation of that is simply mind-blowing -- it might even cure the scions of Sanguinius of their flaw, seeing how that is tied to his 'death' at the hand of Horus. And if there were a way to get him back bodily, the most beloved (and the only Sainted) primarch of the Imperium...

>Fall asleep reading Tales on my cell phone.
>awaken, finis reading, refresh page.
>EVEN MORE!

Mr. Else! Congratzs on the job!
Laughed my ass off at the dark eldar webway, bjorn gave me a "feel", and all the Primarch's speeches, their returns... it zsays so much about their personalities...
Five star, as ever.

>>18592007
>So I stabbed the fucker and took his mints

This is now the /tg/ canonical appearance of Russ. It fits.

All right, be back in a few hours.

I live. I think I'll be doing a bit of actual PLOT now.

9-118-001-M42
“JOB WELL DONE,” the Emperor said, staring at the radar map in the command center. The Guard officers clustered around him nodded sycophantically, watching as the last few red Tyranid icons on the map vanished under a tidal wave of Imperial blue. The techpriest at the controls read off his tally counter.
“Eight regiments sortied, eight regiments retrieved at approximately twenty percent casualties, two Armored Fist columns retrieved with thirty percent losses. No Titan losses.”
“It would have been far worse for your absence, my Lord God,” the portly Lord General at the front of the room said, making the sign of the Aquila reverently. “The scourge will still need to be purged from the worlds’ civilian population, of course, but…”
“WITH NO MORE CARNIFEXES APPEARING IN THE SKIES, YEAH, YOUR MEN SHOULD BE MORE THAN CAPABLE OF PURGING ANY LINGERING GENESTEALERS,” the Emperor finished. “ALL RIGHT. IN THE MEANTIME, I THINK I’M GOING TO CHECK OUT THE WEBWAY GATE I FOUND.”
“So it was a Gate, then, my Lord God?” the techpriest asked. “Do you know where it goes?”
“WELL, ALL GATES ARE THEORETICALLY CAPABLE OF CONNECTING TO OTHER GATES, BUT IN REALITY, THEY’RE LIMITED BY THEIR RELATIVE SIZE,” the Emperor said. “I’D BET THAT WAS A SMALL GATE USED FOR DARK ELDAR RAIDS.”
“What will you do with it, my Lord God?” the Lord General asked, staring at the spot on the map where the Gate lay hidden.
“FOR NOW, GO THROUGH IT,” the Emperor said. “I’VE GOT A BIT OF AN IDEA, REGARDING GETTING THOSE ANNOYING DARK ELDAR OFF OUR BACKS FOR A WHILE.”

>>“I’VE GOT A BIT OF AN IDEA,
Awww SHIT!
Viva Commoragh, Emps is going to PARTY!

Asdrubael Vect stared at the two reports in his hands with a mounting rage. In one, a scout team had reported that the Emperor of Humans had possessed a daemon, and was tearing through the Tyranids. In the other, one of his own men had sighted Isha herself, alive and well, on an Exodite world.
Vect didn’t care about Isha, very much. His attitude towards the Gods was more or less the same of that as the rest of the Dark Eldar: loathing mixed with antipathy. What reason did he have to care for a failure? She hadn’t the strength to fight She Who Thirsts like Khaine, and hadn’t the foresight to flee like Cegorach, so what did she matter? It was her dalliance with the Exodites that truly bothered him. The Craftworlders, in their arrogance, were of little importance in the longest term; transitory and fleeting. But the Exodites…they were not shrinking in number. Instead, they had managed to thrive in their self-imposed solitudes and barbarity. And now that the Imperium was reported to be fleeing from the Maiden Worlds as fast as they could…
By the same token, though, it was the very same Exodites who barely mattered in the more immediate sense. According to a Harlequin ‘friend,’ the Emperor of Humans had used the Webway to travel to Ulthwé. How, he didn’t know. But if he had managed to travel to a craftworld using the Webway…Commorragh was vulnerable, too.
Not that that was his problem. The Dark Eldar numbered in the tens of trillions now, with technologies more advanced than any left in the entire galaxy, even if not all of the power of the Eldar before the Fall had been preserved. No one Human sorcerer, no matter their power, could threaten him.

2-118-001-M42
“Are you kidding?” Jaghatai Khan asked. “It’s great! Oh yeah, I’m finally home again! Have you any idea how much I missed this place?”
“GLAD TO HEAR IT, JAGHATAI,” the Emperor said. He had arrived in the skyport of the Great Fortress of Mundus Planus mere minutes before, to deliver a message of great import to the Khan of the Scars, and now the two were discussing the improvements Jaghatai had seen fit to make on his return. “AND THE NEW RECRUITS?”
“Three thousand volunteers per day for the last three weeks,” Jaghatai said with grim satisfaction. “We’re allowed to pick and choose, really. So many more recruits than geneseeds, that we we’ve turned away thousands of candidates. We can screen those whom we may have accepted out of desperation for numbers before.”
“AND OF COURSE VOLUNTEERS USUALLY HAVE BETTER MORALE,” the Emperor noted.
“That too,” Jaghatai said. He gestured to the massive retractable door overhead. “The fleet’s still en route from Armageddon, though. I understand that High Marshall Helbrecht returned to personally lead the defenses again.”
“WITH THRACKA DEAD, THE ORKS WILL CAVE BEFORE MUCH LONGER,” the Emperor said. “AND THAT MEANS THE WHITE SCARS WILL BE ABLE TO PURSUE A VERY…VERY IMPORTANT NEW MISSION.”
“A new mission, eh?” Jaghatai asked. “What do you have in mind?”
“A JOINT TASK GROUP ASSIGNMENT,” the Emperor said, surprising the Khan. “TWO WHITE SCARS COMPANIES AND FIVE MINOTAURS COMPANIES WILL ASSAULT VOLGRATCH DIRECTLY.”
“What’s Volgratch, Sire?” Jaghatai asked. “A Hive Fleet?”
“BETTER. IT’S THE LARGEST DARK ELDAR SPACE STATION LEFT IN THE GALAXY.”
A cruel smirk twisted Jaghatai’s lips. “I like the way you think, Father.”

>>18597250

i like what i am reading.

2-118-001-M42
Roboute Guilliman closed the small, portable keypad he had been using with a decisive *click*. The serf at his desk lifted it and made off, bowing out of the small office. Severus Agemman, his nominal Regent, replaced the serf, looking expectant. “My Lord Guilliman, Lord Calgar has instructed me to inform you that the Anti-Tyranid Rapid Reaction Force vessels assigned to this region have returned and are requesting orders and supplies.”
“Then supply them,” Guilliman said, glancing up. “And have all recent intelligence gathered on these genestealer beasts sent up to them. Perhaps the Arbites can help with this.”
“As you will, my Lord,” Agemman said. Before he could depart, however, Guilliman held up finger for pause.
“Captain, why are you taking it upon yourself to carry such administrative details to my attention? Surely, one of the small army of serfs out there could do just as well.”
“Perhaps, Lord, but in all honesty, I am hoping for a chance to speak with you on a rather important subject,” the First Company Captain allowed. Guilliman gestured for him to continue. “It has been a matter of grave importance for the Ultramarines to uphold the standards set for us by your own Codex Astartes, ten thousand years ago. And, personally, I think we’ve done a bang-up job. However…there has been a concern of late that the newer Space Marine Chapters formed by the Senate of the High Lords are far too willing to disregard its wisdom in their formation, and infrastructure, and titles,” Agemann said.
Guilliman thought for a moment. “How so?”
“A new Chapter was founded less than six hunded years ago, Lord, in the Northern Fringe,” Agemman said, thinking of an example. “They were founded from our gene-stock.”

“Go on.”
“They call themselves the Blue Daggers, my Lord. They were formed specifically to fight against the threat of extragalactic aliens like the Tyranids, or more specifically, the Glasians,” the dour Marine reported.
“I don’t see a problem with that,” Guilliman said. “If their role is different from that of a normal Chapter, or a Crusading Chapter, then what’s the harm in them using non-standard protocol?”
“The problem, my Lord, is that they make a point of utilizing technologies and sorceries alike, which are not allowed for under the Codex, and they don’t particularly need them to win their battles,” Agemann said, coming to the point. “I am uncomfortable with the idea of our own successors utilizing such techno- and warp-sorcery, when they know full well that we would never have allowed them to do so had they remained within our region of the galaxy.”
Guilliman nodded slowly, thinking that over. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he stood, gesturing for Agemann to follow him out of the room, into the courtyard beyond, opposite the door through which the serf had travelled.
The courtyard beyond was neatly groomed, to the extent that it could have been laid out with a T-square and graph paper. The walls of the Chapter Fortress of Hera rose around them, with the contrails of fighter overflights carving white lines across the sky above. The fortress was abuzz, as recruitment and reconstruction to replace the losses suffered at Cadia carried on, and pilgrims by the million flocked to the site where the Emperor had crashed through the wall of the Temple.

>>18597426
>>18597546
I have no idea where this is going but it better don't stop.

The buildings themselves were a mixture of marble and alloy blocks, arranged so that they seemed to be a part of the mountains behind them, when viewed from below, as the walls’ paint lightened higher up, towards the roof. Guilliman raised his hand and pointed at the distant, gleaming construct in the mountain range beyond. “Can you tell me what that is?”
“The third of three surface-to-space defensive laser cannons, my Lord. The other two are located in the polar fortresses,” Agemann replied instantly. “That gun was disabled by genestealers along with the spaceport defenses here on the surface, during the First Tyrannic War, so we had to focus our defenses at the polar fortresses instead.”
“I see. Did you take part in the battle?”
“Naturally, my Lord. I personally led the Second Company armored units in defense of the Capital, while Lord Calgar commanded the forces not assigned to the polar bases,” Agemman said. “Why do you ask, Lord?”
“I am curious as to how exactly you defended the capital against an enemy so…relentless.”
“Firebreaks and dragon’s teeth in the main streets, tripwires connected to claymores and meltabombs in the narrower roads, caltrop and frag mines on the bridges, spotters for artillery and snipers on the rooftops and top floors of buildings. We also stationed Arbites and PDF forces in sandbagged lascannon emplacements in the front doors of buildings, so the facades of the structures could act as cover,” Agemann replied from memory. “It worked, and the back of the horde was broken.”
“So, at no point at all did you find the enemy adapting to your tactics, forcing you to change them?” Guilliman asked.
“We did. When the Swarmlord took to the field and destroyed our last Baneblade at Cold Steel,” Agemann said with a grimace.

>While reading >>18597667
>He Posts >>18597946

PRAISE THE EMPERASQUE!

“So you had to react on the fly, embrace non-Codex tactics?” Guilliman asked.
“Please do not patronize me, my Lord,” Agemann said coolly. “I am by no means unprepared to utilize non-Codex tactics when they are truly needed. You yourself said it was wise to do so, when you abandoned Codex tactics to ambush Alpharius.”
“I did indeed. So, if you are willing to embrace non-Codex tactics, why do you object to other Chapters doing so?” Guilliman asked, nodding to acknowledge the point.
“I am not...my objection stems from my discomfort at Ultramarine successors disregarding the Codex at all times, rather than simply when it is truly needed,” Agemann replied. “And while they are not purely of Ultramarine stock, I admit, they are our descendants. Most of our successors embrace the Codex as fully as we do, or near to it, and they have driven onward to glory in the Emperor’s name. Some are amongst our closest allies.”
Guilliman nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.” Further conversation was briefly impossible as a Land Raider rumbled by, on the reinforced bridge between the Fortress and the main highway. As the sound faded, Guilliman continued. “I am not patronizing you, brother. I simply wish to know why you find this objectionable.”
“I am no hypocrite, my Lord. I am concerned that they may be taking unnecessary casualties in their disregard of your instruction,” Agemann said firmly.
“These extragalactic aliens you mentioned, these Glasians. What are they?” Guilliman asked, changing tack.
“We’ve no idea. They’re as bizarre as Hrud and as foreign as Tyranids. They come from another galaxy, perhaps fleeing the Tyranids themselves.”

“Why are they a threat to us?” Guilliman asked, thinking that information over.
“They are susceptible to the depredations of the Warp, my Lord. Very much so. As soon as they fly within the galaxy, they become corrupted, subtly, by Change.”
“Tzeentch, eh? How does that work?” Guilliman asked grimly.
“Well…the Warp does not exist outside this galaxy, as far as we know. We think that these creatures are susceptible to the depredations of the Warp because they truly have no idea it exists. Their ships pass through the Warp storms at the edge of the galaxy when they arrive, and they emerge corrupted. I could go on for days on what we know of their physiology and technology, but they arrive in waves. Every one hundred Terran years, a new wave of colony ships and their warship escorts arrive, and the Blue Daggers mobilize to kill them. The problem is that each wave is bigger than the last, and their Taint spreads…just a little farther. They manage to colonize or destroy one or two more worlds outside the Astronomican’s light, where we can’t reach them, and they can reinforce the next wave,” Agemann spat disgustedly.
“Sounds like something I didn’t know about when I wrote the Codex,” Guilliman said. “If they need to use a tactic I didn’t have in mind merely to overcome these aliens, since we can’t actually defeat them, I can’t really hold it against them, can I?”
“And their embrace of technologies outside the Machine-God’s sanction?” Agemann pressed.
“I would have to know what you mean more specifically,” Guilliman said.
“They turn the weapons of the alien against their owners, KNOWING they are tainted,” Agemann said curtly.

>>18597965
I posted them out of order.

>>18597968
first, then
>>18597974

well, i posted >>18597965 without reading >>18597946 , so it all works out.

“Now, that IS troubling. I assume they have Chaplains and Librarians as we do?”
“Yes, Lord. Rather a lot, for their size.”
“They are non-Codex in size?”
“They are. Their First through Eighth companies are Codex-sized, but their Ninth and Tenth, Devastators and Scouts, are quite overstrength, and their do not count Specialists and Masters against their count of total warriors,” Agemann said. “Specialists being, of course, Chaplains, Librarians, Techmarines, Apothecaries, etc.”
“I see.” Guilliman considered all he had been told, before clasping his hands over his robe. “Have any of them actually fallen to Chaos?”
“Not as far as we know,” Agemann admitted.
“Then as far as I can see, there’s nothing for me to get upset about,” Guilliman concluded. “I have heard the name of the Blue Daggers before, also. I had no context for the name, but I have. The Emperor bound Lord Chapter Master Gabriel Angelos of the Blood Ravens to the Deathwatch Killteams assigned to the Blue Daggers’ defensive cordon, after his ‘liberation’ of Bjorn the Fell-handed from the Space Wolves.”
“Yes, I heard about that. What in the world is wrong with them?” Agemann asked contemptuously.
“Envy, I suppose. It’s not important. What is important, Captain, is that the internal workings of the other Chapters of the Astartes are, while important, not under our jurisdiction,” Guilliman said. “Anymore, at least.”

All right, I'm really tired. I'll resume later, possibly, but there's no way I'll be writing when planefag gets here.

>>18598391
That much goes without saying.
Wir erwarten Euch, Lord else.

Speaking of kill-teams, will a particular one, or their inquisitor, make a cameo appearance, if only in radio chatter?

>>18599178
What are you talking about?

>>18599239
Oi'm talkin' about da Deffwotch ( http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Deffwotch ).

>>18599239
>>18599368
You realise how badly this would end for all but that particular kill team right?

The power-klaw in the op's picture would get installed on their Painboss and the flaming sword would end up as some infinite-shrapnel-spewing pile-bunker on the Bigmek.

The pauldrons would be a new box for their kommando to hide himself in, and the psyker would eat the head.

I really do, Someone else. Thanks for this.

Those Bloody Magpies.

>>18599604
Perhaps a passing mention of the Deffwotch.

I fukken love this thread!

>>18599604

Who says Doggfather or 50 Throne can't get a cameo?

Or even the Kill Team. Say they were trying to contact Doggfather and got Emps instead

Ohhhh, Deffwotch. Uh, I might actually have them make a cameo, but not as characters. We'll see how this goes. I'm kind of low on ideas.

>>18600014
Maybe a cardboard box shuffling around a corner and the lingering smell of mushrooms.

Heading to earth... wouldn't exactly be impossible for the Deffwotch Armada. They had some questions for ol'goldie before going after time itself

>>18600080
Has the final Deffwotch thread happened yet?

>>18600111
You haven't missed it yet so I'll keep quiet.

Hail to the Emperasque!

bump

>>18604526
Stop being baked, you are an oddish.
You should write

o'dark-asshole-of-the-morning-bump.

A bump in thine glorious name!

MFW all of this thread

“My Lord, was it not you who first imposed the restraints of the Codex?” Agemann asked in some surprise.
“Of course it was me. I was also the highest-ranking man left in the Imperium capable of independent action. It was my onus, my burden. Now the Emperor has risen again, and he’s quite capable of bringing such matters to their proper conclusion. Should his action be needed,” Guilliman pointed out, “he will take them. He’s already brought the Blood Ravens and Black Templars to heel. If these Daggers need his attention, then I will bring it to him.”
Agemann was prepared to keep pressing his case, but Guilliman’s words had the ring of finality to them. “Very well, my Lord.”
“Nothing wrong with bringing such matters to my view, brother,” Guilliman said. The courtyard darkened as a cloud drifted overhead. “But for now, please focus your energies on rebuilding your Company.”
“Very well. My Lord, thank you for your time,” Agemann said, dropping the issue. He turned on his heel and walked back into the fortress. Guilliman eyed him for any sign of recalcitrance, but he was apparently willing to let the issue lie. As the armored profile vanished into the structure, Guilliman let out the sigh he had been holding.
“If the Emperor can find the time to address such minor concerns, I’d be a happy man…”

All right, I'm kind of back. Any questions or comments? Clarifications I can register? This shit has gotten big enough that it's a daunting read for people just arriving.

>>18610329
Nope I'm good, please continue at your leasure

All right, great. Let's go check up on Isha.

9-119-001-M42
The loud footsteps of a passing Megalodon rattled the rocks by her feet, as Isha stood on a clifftop overlooking the migrating herds. A pack of Dragon Riders herded the massive beasts, tapping their thick flanks with electric probes to direct them down the pathsways they had followed for fifteen thousand years. A group of massive, wheeling beasts, with thick membranes of veined leather across their spindly wings, soared overhead, snatching smaller predators on the wing. A sharp, acrid breeze, with the smell of spun Wraith on it, wafted by, from the small camps where the craftsmen were busily fusing the bones of dead saurians with their own Wraithcraft, making all manner of tools.
Distantly, Isha found herself quite content with her decision. Life amongst the Exodites was much more interesting than the staid, structured Craftworld.
A pair of Dragon Elites trooped by the small rock stand where Isha watched the spectacle below, longrifles slung. Behind them trailed almost a hundred Dragon Warriors, eyes alert for wild Clawspinners, threatening the herds below.
Isha had doffed the gown she had worn to Ulthwé and Terra in favor of something more utilitarian. She had selected an outfit like those the Exodite women wore; a simple, utilitarian vest over leather pants, boots and kneepads. Though nothing like the regal appearance she bore in the Eldar legends, she didn’t want to be perceived as insulting her hosts by dressing over them. Besides, she could no more fly here than she could in the House of Rot, and she would have to keep up with the nomadic Exodites when the seasons changed.

Already, the few weeks she had been here had been a salve to the horrors of her confinement. The Exodites had greeted her without reservation, opening their homes to her. The lack of anything that even resembled advanced technology had been a bit of a shock, after the glittering spires of Ulthwé, but she had adapted at once, and looked forward to her recuperation on the sparsely populated world.
She had internally debated about how to use her power here. The population was stable, so her power of fertility was unneeded, and the tribes here did not come to blows, so she wouldn’t be needed as a peacemaker. Ultimately, she resolved, any activity on her part would be fruitless. Even if her power had been urgently needed, its overuse might have drawn Nurgle’s attention…or worse, Slaanesh’s. Fortunately, these Exodites didn’t seem to need them.
Her bodyguard, a Hunter, walked up behind her and waited respectfully. Isha turned to face her, waiting. “My Lady, the camp will be ready to move out in an hour.”
“So soon?” Isha asked. “I was told it would be more like a day.”
“We have hastened,” the Hunter said. “A new beast has appeared at the edge of the plains, looking for food. It’s twice again the size of the Megalodons, and coming this way. We can not risk it finding the herd.”

Be back in a few.

woohoo Isha. she makes me all gooy inside.

Isha wearily rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Is it about seventy feet tall and orange?”
“Uh…yes. How did you know?” the Hunter asked in surprise.
“Because we’ve met,” Isha said. “I’ll be right there.”
After a brisk walk out to where the ‘beast’ had been waiting, Isha dropped her hands on her hips and frowned up at it. “And what can I do for you today?”
“HELLO TO YOU TOO, ISHA. THOUGHT YOU MIGHT WANT TO KNOW, YOUR COMMORRAGH-DWELLING CHILDREN ARE USING A WEBWAY GATE ON THIS WORLD,” the Emperor reported.
“Impossible. There’s only two Gates here, and they’re both guarded,” Isha said dismissively.
“DARK ELDAR HAVE A MEANS OF TELEPORTING THROUGH THE ENERGY MEMBRANE OF THE GATE AND EMERGING SOME DISTANCE AWAY, WHILE ALREADY CLOAKED. THEY’VE USED IT AGAINST US MANY TIMES,” the Emperor informed her. “I FOLLOWED A SCOUT HERE AFTER A BATTLE AGAINST SOME TYRANIDS IN A NEARBY SUBSECTOR. HE FLED WHEN HE SAW ME, BUT HE WAS SPYING ON YOU.”
“Really.” Isha heaved a sigh. Her bodyguard looked back and forth between the two Gods, completely flummoxed. “If they want to find me, they’ll know where I am. Did they seem to be preparing for an attack?”
“NOPE, JUST A RECONNOITER. ONE SKIMMER, CLOAKED. HE WAS SPYING ON ME TOO.”
“Then come what may,” Isha said.
“YOU SAY SO,” the Emperor said skeptically. “I’LL BE OFF.”
“Farewell, then,” Isha said, as the Emperor vanished in a burst of purple smoke. Her Hunter guard looked at her in astonishment.
“What in the Warp was that?” she managed.
“The Human Emperor,” Isha said. “My rescuer.” The Hunter looked at the rapidly dissipating cloud of smoke, back to the scarred Birth Goddess.
“…Hell of a story to tell at the campfire, Madam.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Isha said drily. “You didn’t have to live through it.”

MOAR!!!!

I was away for dinner. I'll do one more bit before SWQ starts.

>>18614394
Exultations and rejoicing shall know no boundaries among my heart, master.

Jaghatai Khan’s vessel, the Minotaur Battle Barge Scourge of the Heretic, tore through the Warp in the Emperor’s wake, streaming towards the Dark Eldar pirate station as fast as the engines would allow. The combined task force of White Scars and Minotaurs was outfitted for a boarding, as they would need to be, for their role was almost pure close-quarters. The Dark Eldar rely on stealth and trickery in battle, in space and on the ground; their primary weapon was their holofield generator, which could hide them from any ships’ sensors. The Emperor, however, had known where to look, having had Commodore Romes compile a list of all the places in the region where his ships had been hijacked by the xenos.
Sure enough, the sites of the hijacking had been correlative. That knowledge in hand, the Emperor had flown straight to the two chapters who would be most capable of (and willing to) boarding a space station full of Dark Eldar.
Jaghatai himself stood in the hangar, running his hands over the new Attack Bike he had acquired from the Chapter armory. The Bike was brand-new, or looked it. The forward twin-linked bolters and heavy bolter on the sidecar didn’t have a visible speck of carbon scoring on their barrels. A neatly-sealed pack of frag grenades on the seat of the passenger car completed the vehicle’s arsenal. Normally, a Bike would have been beyond useless in a boarding action…but Jaghatai Khan knew a trick or two when it came to boarding actions.

>>18614938
>Normally, a Bike would have been beyond useless in a boarding action…but Jaghatai Khan knew a trick or two when it came to boarding actions.

>We will never witness Jaghatai Khan and the Attilan commander Mogul Kamir lead the greatest and most devastating cavalry charge ever conceived of...

http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Mogul_Kamir#.T4Dbw9n6muI
his codex entry is a bit longer though

>but Jaghatai Khan knew a trick or two when it came to boarding actions.
Oh my. The rape train approaches.

>>18620281

You are now imagining Jaghatai Khan driving his attack bike on the ceiling, beheading dark eldar left and right with a chainsword while the Dark Eldar commander in back utters "how is this even possible?"

>>18620575
>the Dark Eldar commander in back utters "how is this even possible?"

Alternatively, the Archon would be saying "KHAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!"

>In my mind, Jaghati Khan sounds like Maco Man Randy Savage, but slightly more intelligent.

You are now imagining a death race between Khan and Doomrider.

>>18622877

I wouldn't dare, less I summon them to this world.

>>18622237
I love it.
>>18622598
Then you're in luck.
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/14745454/#14757787

All right, I'm having family over, I will resume tonight.

>>18623997

Looking forward to it.

age

Thanks for your patience folks. I think this will be the last day of the thread unless I get a huge upswing in requests or something, this is getting pretty tiring. I'll be writing on and off through dinner until the thread dies.

>>18627784
>why must all great things die.jpg

>>18627784

Ah well, the writing's been good while it's been here.

Well, I'm also planning an anniversary blowout thread on the 28th, the one-year anniversary of the original Emperasque thread. I just want to do other things this month too, and I start a new job on the 16th that will seriously change my free time scheduling.

>>18627957

Yeah, well I suppose the best you can do is just file away a day or two every few months to sit down and hammer out sweet, sweet storytime for all us lovely neckbeards here. We're patient people.

Also an anniversary blowout thread sounds awesome.

>Alternatively, the Archon would be saying "KHAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!"
mfw

9-120-001-M42
The Webway is not secure. The labyrinth dimension between the Warp and reality is cracked and shattered, ripped apart by the birth of Slaanesh, and twisted into whorls by the machinations of Cegorach (and the Emperor, prior to his abandonment of the Human Web project). The darkest recesses of the Webway flood with the whispers of the daemons that lurk in its tunnels, turning wayward travelers to madness…and Chaos.
The Dark Eldar wouldn’t use it if they didn’t absolutely have to. Their race spread to its size only because of the malleability of its construction, allowing for populations magnitudes greater than the real world could support. Thus, when they exit the Webway to prey on realspace, they have to take the uttermost care not to be stranded there. It may be healthier for them, but they find no succor here.
Volgratch station hung in the depths of the Segmentum Pacificus like a hornet’s nest on a tree. Tiny ships darted in and out of its holofield, heading through the Warp and realspace to steal human and ork ships, capture and enslave their crews, haul their plunder into the Webway, and scout out abandoned Webway tunnels besides. It was not heavily armed. It didn’t usually need to be, since its holofields were years ahead of the Imperiums’ means of detecting it. On that fateful day, however, that stopped mattering.

>>18629362

Huzzah for writing!

Commodore Romes and his analysts had determined that since Dark Eldar ships have very short ranges in the Warp, since their presence there draws daemons to their positions like iron filings to an electromagnet, they could only be hitting targets sixty light-years from their origin point. By looking within sixty light years of recent pirate raids, and eliminating star systems with no signs of ancient Eldar colonies or plainly-visible surface Webway Gates, they had narrowed the field down to two. The Emperor’s psychic might had detected the station in one of the two stations, and now Jaghatai Khan was nearly giddy with the anticipation of taking revenge for ten thousand years of wasted time.
The Chapter Master of the Minotaurs, Moloc, had not been able to accompany the task force in person, but their Reclusiarch had, and would be leading the Minotaurs in person. The entire force would be personally answerable to Jaghatai, however, not that he was all that eager to resume High Command duties so soon. He had made it clear from the beginning that his role was on the front lines, personally leading the attack, something the Reclusiarch could admit he respected.

waiting

>>18632287
Sorry about that. I think this is it, for this week. Thanks for playing.

As ever, leave critique in the thread, and requests or comments too.

>>18634390
Wooo, thanks SE. We appreciate the effort you put into the Tales of the Emperasque.
I have to say, I preferred it at the start when E was the star and he was going around fixing all the shit that was wrong with 40K, but your quality of writing has not diminished.
Thanks again, and good luck with your new job
(also wooo I posted in an Emperasque thread)

>>18634390

Favourite bits are the parts with humour, Khan, Vulkan, Big E and Russ. Mixtures of all five is orgasmic.

That being said, the rest is fantastic as well. Just write what you feel like writing, I don't think your audience is too picky.

>>18634390
As allways else, if your one-year job contract doesn't pan out, you should write something professionally. I've read far, far less interesting and well developed characters in major bestsellers.

>>18637633
>>18635804
>>18635254
Thanks guys.

And don't worry, the building Dark Eldar arc will be mostly Biggie, with either Vulkan or Jaghatai in supporting roles.

>>18638419
Oh boy!
Big E knocking on Vect's front door.
And know for something completely different.
SWQ-logs, that is. Fucking time zones.

>>18639987
> Get in her pants at last.
> AWESOME called, you're needed elsewhere.
So that's what Maester Aemon meant when talking about tough choices.

rolled 16 = 16

never ceases to amaze me how long these threads stay on the forum. THat alone is a testement to the power of the Emperasque.

>>18641150

It's His Bigness' divine will. It's the only explanation.

>>18641150
Each quarter's threads live longer, because I'm getting fewer and fewer posts in each. It's gotten to be far too long to start from the beginning. Total running length of the story is now...let's see...323 pages, 1-inch margins, single-spaced, size 11 Calibri. That's AT LEAST two, maybe three, full-length paperback novels.

>>18642784

Shit, whenever you finish the Tales, print each instalment out in A5, get it bound and post up the images here for giggles.

>>18642916
What's A5?

>>18642974

Half the size of A4.

Oh, paper sizes. I thought it was the name of an online store or something.

>>18641437
And for the love of His most holy Bling someone archive this and update the 1d4chan entry.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

EMPRAHSQUE!

>>18644052
I already did. Once it's all over I'll take the time to make individual 1d4chan pages, maybe a template. But it's already archived and listed.

Thank you, Someone Else.

I wish Relic would make a second Space Marine game based on your story.

But that won't happen.

Maybe Chapter Master devs will work the Emprahque into the game.

>>18648038
Maybe Void Whale carcasses can be a random Peril.

"Ho hum de dum de doo, flying in the Warp - *CLANG* ...FUCKING WHALES"

>>18648228

Doing that to my players in my next rogue trader game.

>>18634390

Can't wait 'till next week.