I'm going to dump from scratch because it's been a long time since I started this, I don't do threads as often as I used to, and the plot (aaaah ah ha ha ha ha ha) is getting confusing (aaaah ah ha ha ha ha ha).

6-075-001-M42
“My Lord Forgefather, the transition has gone well. We are en route,” Ir’Shal said. The Master of Ships turned from his console to address his target directly.
Vulkan nodded from the center of the bridge, eyes darting over the displays before him. The tiny Navy Cobra had been transferred to his command only recently, and he wasn’t familiar with its layout yet. “Acknowledged. Enginarium?”
“Transition clean, sir,” an awestruck voice responded. Vulkan let his eyes slide shut for a moment in irritation, then spoke as if nothing was amiss.
“Excellent. Navigator, ETA?”
“Seven days, Lord Vulkan,” the unbelievably dry voice of the Navigator replied, echoing over the bridge speakers from her quarters overhead. Vulkan nodded.
“Excellent. Captain, you have the bridge.”
“Aye, sir,” the ship’s former commander said, moving to fill the spot Vulkan had just vacated. The Primarch stepped aside and turned to look at the set of bright red eyes that had been boring into him since they had left Terra.
“He’Stan, may I speak to you outside for a moment?” Vulkan said, ignoring the death glare the shorter man was giving him.

“Of course, my Lord,” the former Forgefather said, as if he hadn’t been standing behind his Primarch seething the entire time. Fortunately, the Navy crew had never even seen Space Marines before, so they hadn’t visibly picked up on the tension.
Vulkan walked out of the bridge and into the antechamber beyond, where Chapter Regent Tu’Shan stood waiting. He bowed his head respectfully when the two other men emerged. “My Lord Vulkan. We are en route?”
“We are,” He’Stan answered, then winced slightly as Vulkan’s shoulders lifted in a strained sigh. Tu’Shan did not display his Primarch’s restraint.
“Something to add, old friend?” he asked, his voice frigid.
“Only something I have said already, my Lord,” He’Stan said, clearly unwilling to retread old ground.
Tu’Shan persisted. “That being?”
“That this is not something we should be doing yet!” He’Stan said, rising to the bait. “With the greatest of respect, my Lords, Terra is still in the middle of a civil war and we’re at half-strength back home. I, more than any other member of the Chapter, want to see the Artefacts brought home, but this…this is just poor timing.”
Vulkan stared at He’Stan just long enough to see him deflate a bit. “When would you have us go, then, brother? And why were you so willing to stare me down about in front of the crew?”
“For that I apologize, my Lord,” He’Stan said, good grace restored. “I should not have done that. I must reiterate my protest, however.”

The three men broke off their discussion as a techpriest from the ship’s crew walked in, spotted them, and froze solid. The spindly fellow looked from one to another and backpedaled out, mumbling apologies. He’Stan barely even seemed to register it, though, pressing his point like an attack dog. “Lord Vulkan, if you would, what were the Emperor’s specific instructions?”
“To return to our respective homeworlds and rebuild,” Vulkan said, recalling the meeting with the Emperor several days prior.
“Precisely, sir, thank you. We need to rebuild from the losses we suffered at Armageddon, sir. The Artefacts can wait,” He’Stan said.
“The retrieval of the Engine of Woes and the Unbound Flame can wait,” Vulkan replied. He turned to face the shorter man evenly. “The Obsidian Chariot is on our course there.”
He’Stan’s jaw dropped. He took a moment to reclaim his composure, and when he did, his voice was far more respectful. “My Lord, I…did not realize. May I ask as to its location, then?”
Vulkan smiled faintly, his sense of humor peeking around the edge of his bad mood. “Are you sure you want to?”
“I suppose not,” He’Stan said. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Several decks below, a small group of techpriests was huddled around a table. “I’m telling you, he’s HERE! The Lord Primarch Vulkan is HERE!” one of them squeaked in binary.
“Whaaaat? No way, man, you’re pulling my mechadendrite,” another replied. “It’s probably one of the Salamanders that was recalled to Terra on the Emperor’s orders last month.”
“Damn it, I’m telling you, it was HIM! He was three meters tall and his eyes glowed through the lids!” the first one beeped indignantly.
“Suuuure he did,” the second replied, eliciting a few laughs. “Did he shoot lightning out of his ass? Oh, wait, that’s the White Scars.”
“Hah hah hah, very funny,” the first one beeped back, managing to put a tone of huffiness in his twitterings. “But when you see him, you’ll be sorry.”
“Yep,” the second replied, “that’ll happen.”
Back above, the three Salamanders broke up their conversation, He’Stan and Tu’Shan re-entering the bridge and Vulkan making his way down to the quarters he had been assigned. The ship’s Captain had offered him the Commanding Officer’s quarters, but Vulkan had declined, selecting a room in the Enginseer’s quarters instead. He had had his few possessions sent up, save his armor, of course, which was resting in the same armory as the other Salamanders. As he headed down, he found the reassuringly familiar corridors of the ship curiously empty of crew. His chronometer insisted it was mid-day, ship time.

As he passed the ship’s Astropathy temple, however, he found his answer. A trio of Naval Provosts stood at attention outside, escorting out a very nervous telepath. The Telepath halted when he saw the Primarch and bowed. “See? We didn’t need a lockdown,” he muttered sidelong at the guards, apparently forgetting that Astartes and their Primarchs alike have superhuman hearing. “My Lord Vulkan, it is an honor,” he said, louder.
Vulkan nodded politely. “Sieur. I was expected, I gather?”
“You were, my Lord,” the Astropath said, still bent at the waist. Vulkan gestured to him, and one of the provosts eased him back up. “I have a message from the Imperial Palace for you. I was to deliver it the moment we were safely in the Warp.”
“Oh?” Vulkan asked, his curiosity piqued. He stuck a hand out for the message, but the Astropath continued.
“I have delivered it to your quarters, Lord Vulkan. The message was not marked urgent, but it was marked ‘your eyes only.’”
“Thank you, then,” Vulkan said, nodding again and turning to leave.
Arriving at his cabin, he pulled open the door and paused, taking it in. The room was as spartan as he would have hoped – and frankly, preferred – from a Techpriest’s quarters. Aside from a table and a few chairs, the only amenities were a private latrine and a small bed, which he suspected wouldn’t hold his weight too well anyway.
A dataslate waited on the table. Vulkan walked over and tapped it, and a transcribed message appeared.

OH SHIT! IT BEGINS AGAIN!

Hell yes, fucking love me sum emperasque!

“VULKAN, I WILL BE BRIEF. I KNOW THAT YOU NEED TO RETURN TO NOCTURNE AND YOU’RE INTERESTED IN RETRIEVING THAT ARTEFACT AS WELL. THAT SAID, THERE’S A GROWING SITUATION YOU MAY NEED TO KNOW ABOUT. THE ASTRONOMICAN DIMMED BEFORE I AROSE IN MY NEW FORM, AND CONTACT WAS LOST WITH SEVERAL HUNDRED WORLDS. THEY WERE NOT DESTROYED OR ANYTHING, BUT THEY WENT OFF THE GRID, AND SOME WERE TOO FAR OUTSIDE THE NAVIGATOR’S CAPABILITIES TO ACTUALLY REACH. UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, HUGE NUMBERS OF MINOR THREATS AROSE, SOME OF WHICH AGGREGATED TO THREATEN THE CUT-OFF WORLDS. I SUSPECT THAT THE SALAMANDERS WOULD HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO DEAL WITH THEM BY THE MUNITORUM HAD I NOT CHANGED THE PLAYING FIELD. THE ORDER MAY STILL COME THROUGH. FEEL FREE TO DISREGARD IT IF IT DOES.
The Right Emperor of Terra.”

“Alien threats, eh…” Vulkan said to himself as he switched off the tablet. “Well, so be it.” He wandered over to the tiny porthole of the cabin and stared out, seeing nothing but the reflective gold interior of the Gellar projection.
The door chimed. Vulkan turned to face it. “Enter.”
The door slid into the ceiling with a hiss. A member of the ship’s crew entered, and immediately bowed. “Lord Vulkan. Are these accommodations to your liking? The Captain wishes to respectfully remind you that his own suite is available.”
“It’s fine, thank you,”Vulkan replied, glancing around. “If I could trouble you to direct me to the training chapel, I would appreciate it.”
The crewwoman’s back stiffened. “M…My Lord Vulkan, this is not an Astartes vessel. We have only a gymnarium.”
“Of course,” Vulkan sighed. “That will do.”
“As you command, sir,” she said, straightening up. “Please follow me.”

Back on Terra, things were somewhat more tumultuous. Even as a pair of Administratum functionaries addressed the High Lords about the costs of rebuilding the damaged Hives, Raven Guard Primarch Corax was glaring daggers at anyone he could see from his bed. “If it’s not fallen off by now, it’s not going to,” he growled at the chirugeon at his side.
“We have to take precautions where poisons of the Warp are concerned, Lord Corax,” the nervous man said, glancing furtively at the man’s bandaged wrist. “I do apologize, but we must do this.”
“Fine,” Corax sighed, pulling himself up into a sitting position with his good arm and waving the far smaller doctor away. “Just lock the door on the way out. I need some time to think.”
“Of course, my Lord,” the chirugeon said, bowing out. Before he could close the door, however, a scuffle in the hallway caught Corax’s attention. Corax squinted to see who it was, then sighed. Not again…
“Hey, tall, pale, and brooding, how’s the wrist?” his guest asked brightly, pushing past the furiously bowing chirugeon with ease.
Corax ground his palm into his eyes. “Agonizing, Russ, how do you think?”
“Yeah, that’s great,” the Space Wolf said over his brother’s reply. “Hey, did you know Vulkan left already?”
“Yeah,” Corax said, hoping succinct answers would displace his brother.
No such luck. “He was rarin’ to go, he was,” Russ said, nodding with mock thoughtfulness. “Hey, it must be boring in here. Want to thumb wrestle? Oh wait,” he said, making a show of realizing his faux pas.
“Get. Out. Russ,” Corax ground out between clenched teeth. Russ’s shoulders drooped, as if he was gravely hurt by his brother’s words.
“Fine. Jerk. See if I come to help you get over manglings again.” He walked back out, flashing the chirugeon a grin as he did so.
Corax settled back into the bed with a faint grin. “Asshole.”

The Cobra destroyer, the Swift, was appointed for its usual complement, and thus not to Vulkan’s tastes. More accurately, not to his size. The machines were almost all too small for him, and the collection of free weights were designed for far smaller men. Nonetheless, the sparring simulators and open practice areas felt enough like home that he managed to settle in well enough, pointedly ignoring the stares and quiet prayers of the few crewmen who were sharing the room. After a brief circuit on the weight machines (in which he had concluded that lifting the machines themselves would have been a better workout), he was making for the boxing ring, to the terror of the men in it, when his comm-bead crackled to life.
“My Lord, please report to the bridge IMMEDIATELY,” Ir’Shal’s voice said, with an unmistakable undertone of urgency. Vulkan tapped the bead.
“Acknowledged. What’s the situation?”
“It’s the Navigator. Something’s-” Ir’Shal’s voice cut off in a dusty rattle of static. Vulkan tapped the bead again.
“Brother, report. What’s going on?” Vulkan turned back to the door of the gym and walked out as fast as he could without appearing to run. “Bridge, this is Vulkan. Respond.” Only static answered.
As he crossed the threshold of the gymnarium, the automatic pressure doors of the room started to close behind him. He doubletimed it across the gap and watched in confusion and mounting alarm as the door slid shut, cutting off the baffled looks of the men inside.

Vulkan stared at the blank metal sheet for a moment, then sprinted for the bridge lift, beating the pressure doors by inches. He rolled to his feet in the lift and hit the button for the bridge deck, stilling the impulse to page the bridge again.
Suddenly, the entire ship lurched, and he felt his insides empty out, as if he had been dropped into a blender. Recognizing the first signs of an unprotected Warp transition, he squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. Seconds later the feeling returned, like a hammer blow to the stomach. He fell to his knees and tried to block it out, but it was too much: the pressure of a thousand trillion screaming souls, near and far, and the laughter of monsters.
The lift reached the right deck and Vulkan tumbled out, scrambling for purchase on the walls. Several crewmen were writing on the deck ahead, a few visibly bleeding from the eyes and ears.
Just as suddenly as it had started, it faded away to a tolerable level. Vulkan had spent enough time in the Warp to know it wouldn’t last. Ignoring the writhing men on the deck, he stumbled to his feet and ran for the bridge, hoping he could make it before the next assault on his soul.
He burst through the bridge doors to find his worst fears confirmed: the room was in complete chaos. The Captain was down, both legs missing, and several other crewmen were scattered around the room in pieces. Ir’Shal was fighting for his life against a hideous monstrosity of a daemon, which seemed to be made entirely of tangled flesh and hammers.

Vulkan set his teeth and charged across the deck plates, hurtling the downed crewmen, and hefted a chair he passed en route. He hauled off and threw the metal seat as hard as he could into the daemon’s side. The disgusting creature slapped the chair aside and slammed its metal fists at the Salamander, but it was too late. The distraction was all Ir’Shal needed to reach into the tangled mess and discharge his bolt pistol into the creature’s core. The glob of meat and metal flew apart with an unhappy groan, and Vulkan skidded to a halt at Ir’Shal’s side.
“Brother, what happened?” he demanded, searching the bridge for another target.
“The Navigator is dead, Lord Vulkan,” Ir’Shal said shortly, running over to the Captain’s station and shoving the man’s torso unceremoniously aside. “We hit something MASSIVE in the Warp, it shorted the Gellar Field and killed the Navigator. A Space Hulk, a Void Whale, a Craftworld, something. It’s uncharted and moving, whatever it is. We’re past it.”
“Probably a Soul Vortex or something like it, a proto-Warp Storm,” Vulkan said, remembering the chorus of tortured screams he had heard.
“Maybe,” Ir’Shal said distractedly, grabbing an intercom microvox. “Enginarium, stabilize and cast the Warp shields. We have to drop out, now.”
“IT’S FULL OF EYES! WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MANY EYES?!” a screaming voice came back, before ending in a tortured gurgle. Ir’Shal’s helmet dipped for a moment before snapping back up.
“Master Vulkan, may I respectfully request you don your armor and get down there?” he asked, turning to face his Primarch.
“Way ahead of you, brother,” Vulkan said, already halfway to the exit.

Vulkan arrived at the armory in what was probably record time. A full platon of Navl Provosts were huddled around the entrance, with several crewmen scrambling at the controls, trying to override the pressure door and get in. A single Techpriest from the Naval contingent was hovering beside them, trying to force the door open with his metal limbs.
“Open, damn your circuits, OPEN!” he growled, straining against the metal seal. It opened a fraction, and one of the provosts slid his shock maul into the gap, trying to lever against it.
“Allow me,” Vulkan said loudly, and elbowed the provost aside. The enormous Primarch braced his boots against the decking and threw himself against the weapon. It creaked, bent at the middle, and snapped, but before the door could slam shut, Vulkan managed to drive himself sideways into the gap, preventing it from closing. He locked his legs and hands against the door and the frame, forcing them apart.
“Any time,” he managed, glaring at the gaping crowd. One of the provosts was as good as his initiative, sliding between the larger man’s legs into the room. The Techpriest planted himself next to the door and added his own strength to Vulkan’s, prying the door open another several centimeters.
The provost managed to hit the right runes, and the door slid open fully. Vulkan sagged against the frame, his knees and elbows screaming. “Ugh. Don’t want to have to do that again,” he muttered.

One of the crewmen approached him in awe as the others ran in, scrambling to outfit themselves. “My eternal thanks, Lord Vulkan,” he started, making the sign of the Aquila. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Vulkan lied, looking around for his armor and spotting it quickly, towering over the other Salamander suits as it was. He walked over and eased himself it, assisted by the Techpriest, who, alone among the others in the room, seemed to realize the gravity of the situation. After a few torturous minutes, the suit hummed to life, and Vulkan bolted for the door, desperately trying to remember where the cargo lift was. He dredged it up from his memory a few moments later, and ran down the corridor, hoping he could make it in time.
The Enginarium was faring no better than the bridge had been. The surviving crew members were running across the spacious Mechanicum temple as fast as they could, dodging the shambling monstrosity that had erupted from a shipmate’s torso. The daemon was slinging its own eyes about like flails, impaled as they were on lengths of chain. The techpriests had tried to fight back long enough to drop the ship from the Warp, but the horrible creature was too determined and had scattered everyone who had tried.

>>17087601
God Damn it Someone Else, I dedicated myself to making a character for that godawful Realms of Atlantasia game.

With a shriek, one of the crewmen lost his footing and got slammed for his efforts, the flailing eyes wrapping around his legs and dragging him towards the daemon. The creature cackled with malicious glee as it dragged its meal closer.
Before it could chow down, however, salvation arrived. With a roar, a green and black machine tore from the open hatch, roiling flames leaping from its wrist. The monster released its helpless prey and lashed out at the armored goliath, but there was no chance it could hit it, the flame-spewing angel was too quick. The daemon recoiled as the white-hot flames licked closer, then erupted into the air, over the carpet of fire. It hovered for a second, then dove upon the crewmen’s rescuer, its eyestalks flailing about.
The green titan drew back its flame-spewing gauntlet and held the other arm at its side, clenching its fist. When the daemon got close enough, the armored figure suddenly thrusted the arm upwards, and a glowing blue spike projected from its wrist, neatly impaling the daemon. The creature had just enough time to look offended before it exploded, a massive electric bolt arcing to the deckplates and raising the hair on the surviving crew.
As the squelching noises of the falling eyes faded, one crewman managed to work up the courage to approach his rescuer. “Th-thank you, Lord Astartes. Your timing was divine.”
“My timing would have been divine if I had saved the ones who died before I got here,” the Marine replied. “Now, drop us out of the Warp.”

Back on the bridge, Ir’Shal was listening in on the exchange, and broke in. “Hold that order, my Lord, something’s changing.”
Vulkan held up his hand for pause. “Say again, Shipmaster?”
“Something else is happening,” the younger man replied, looking over his sensors in bewilderment. The Gellar field was holding again, barely, now that the ship had been purged of daemons, but the weakened state of the field had allowed him to see something horrible in their path as they hurtled through the Warp. A shimmering wall of white energy lurked in their path, brilliant and terrible. Ir’Shal examined his sensors and spoke again. “I think the death of the Navigator skewed us off-course. We’re headed for the edge of a Warp stream, a huge one.”
“Then we should drop out immediately,” Vulkan said urgently.
“I’m not sure we can, my Lord, not now,” Ir’Shal said, glancing over his shoulder as the other two Salamanders walked aboard, their own armor donned. “The ship is moving between stellar systems now. If we drop out, we’ll never get back, unless the Emperor himself can detect it.”
“A ship this small doesn’t have enough Astropaths to contact Terra from here,” Vulkan said grimly, “but can we survive impact with the Warp Stream?”
“Easily, my Lord,” Ir’Shal said, examining his sensors. “We’ll ride the current and see where it takes us. It more or less has to end on an inhabited planet, thanks to the nature of the Warp. There’s something with souls at the end of this, rest assured.”

“Then so be it,” Vulkan said heavily. He turned to face the expectant crew and tried to compose his thoughts. “Men…” he started. He struggled for a moment and continued. “We are about to enter a Warp stream. We have no idea where it leads yet, save that the system is almost certainly inhabited. I need you to power the Gellar Field up as much as it can be, shutting down everything we don’t need in the process.”
The enginarium staff gaped in horror, so Vulkan added a qualifier. “Immediately, men, we may have only minutes.”
The staff lurched to life, overcoming their understandable fear with commendable speed. Vulkan left them to it, and headed back up to the bridge, joining the other three Salamanders in staring at the sensor panel as if it would change anything. A timer counted down until the ship slammed into the Warp stream, the current in nonreality. As the numbers crawled away, He’Stan sighed and leaned against a nearby console.
“No clue where we’re going?” he asked.
“None,” Ir’Shal said. He tapped his armored finger against a tiny rune on his console and the holoscreen at the front of the room flattened against the wall, revealing an image from one of the forward cameras. The sanity-erasing horrors of the Warp were abated by the camera’s machine spirits, which could only show a picture of the outside, after all.

In the middle was a growing ribbon of light, stretching to infinity in two directions. The ship’s lights went dim as the enginarium crew desperately shut down systems and diverted their power to the Gellar field, until there wasn’t much light in the room save that coming from screens and illuminated controls. The ribbon grew larger and larger as the ship swarmed closer, until there was no point in keeping the cameras on any more, and Ir’Shal silently reached over to their controls and powered them down. By unspoken agreement, all four Salamanders made their way to the various control terminals scattered throughout the bridge and relived the surviving bridge crew, who scampered off, no doubt relieved to have a chance to go and pray uninterrupted.
Vulkan could FEEL it when they hit the ribbon. The entire ship was wrenched violently aside, but not physically; he and every other man aboard felt like their souls were being surgically cut from their housings and shifted to starboard ten feet, then rammed back into place by a Painboy. Vulkan felt his vision cloud for a moment, then it cleared, though the feeling of dizziness lingered. He gripped the console until he felt his sense of self reassert, then straightened up. Tu’Shan seemed to have weathered the transition as well as he had, but Ir’Shal and He’Stan were still kneeling, gripping their consoles for support, their armored fingers bending the brasswork on the trim.
With a start, he realized what that meant. With a few pokes of the intercom, he opened a channel to the enginarium. “Enginarium, report in. Are the fields holding?”
“Affirmative,” a shaky voice replied. “We’ve had to shift them to hull mode instead of bubble, though. It’s lower-power, but it won’t get chipped away by the stream.”
“Good thinking.” Vulkan thought for a moment. “Are the viewports proofed against this?”
“Negative, my Lord,” the man on the other said, swallowing a few times.

“Understood. Bridge out.” Vulkan released the stud and switched lines, paging the astropathy temple. “Comms, this is bridge. Come in, comms.”
After a delay of nearly a minute, another voice came on; Vulkan recognized it as the voice of the astropath that had passed along his father’s message. “I’m…here…my Lord,” he managed, sounding even worse off than the enginarium crew had.
“Sieur, this is Lord Vulkan. Is the character of the Warp stream through which we’re moving definite?” Vulkan asked. Ir’Shal looked at him agape, but said nothing. The other two Salamanders looked at one another, confused.
“Negative…I mean, I haven’t…looked,” the voice said. Vulkan nodded slowly.
“Very well. Contact me when you do,” Vulkan said, cutting the channel.
Ir’Shal spoke up. “You wouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Vulkan countered.
“You’re not a Navigator, my Lord!” Ir’Shal protested, as realization dawned on the other two Marines. “You can’t see into a Warp current!”
“I’m not going to try to steer us, brother,” Vulkan said, “just try to figure out what’s causing this.”
“Don’t bother, my Lord,” Ir’Shal said firmly. “Not even a man tempered by your experience can see into the Warp and stay sane.”
Vulkan stared at him for a moment before relenting. “Very well.”
Ir’Shal sagged with relief. “I’m glad I could convince you, Lord. It would have been a terrible loss for the Chapter if we were to lose you so early.”

Abruptly, the ship shifted again. This time, the shift felt more like what a Warp transition should feel like, rather than dropping into the Warp like a stone. Vulkan looked around the bridge for any sign of change, but couldn’t tell what was wrong. Ir’Shal turned back to the Captain’s controls and glanced them over. “We’ve reached the core of the stream, my Lord,” he said. “It’s like the eye of a storm, surrounded by the maelstrom of souls, but not buffeted about by them.”
“Could we drop out safely?” He’Stan asked.
“No chance,” Ir’Shal said grimly. “We could drop out in the middle of deep space, dozens of light-years from a star. We can’t risk it.”
Vulkan turned for the exit. “The ship is yours, brother Ir’Shal. Please unseal the pressure doors on the vessel so the crew can go about their duties.”
“Where are you going, my Lord?” He’Stan asked as Ir’Shal acknowledged his instruction and started working the ship’s life support controls.
“I need some rack time, brother,” Vulkan said wearily. “And I seem singularly useless here. Wake me to take a shift.”
“I don’t…aye, my Lord,” He’Stan said as the hatch slid shut behind his Primarch. He turned to Ir’Shal and shrugged. “I can’t blame him. Those daemons…for all we know, this isn’t even the first time they’ve met.”
“Chilling,” Tu’Shan muttered. “You may be right.”

0-080-001-M42
“I’M TELLING YOU, SOMETHING’S GONE WRONG,” the Emperor roared worriedly, pacing the Hall of the Throne. His massive footsteps shook the room to its high ceiling, until finally he sat back on his huge haunches and stared at his guests. “I WAS TRACKING VULKAN’S SHIP, THEN THEY SLAMMED FULL-BORE INTO A VOID WHALE CARCASS AND I LOST THEM. DAMN IT ALL, I CAN’T LOSE HIM LIKE THIS, NOT SO SOON.”
“Father, I beg your composure,” Ultramarines Primarch Roboute Guilliman said, trying to maintain his own. “The Swift is large enough to survive contact with a void whale carcass. And I assure you the Navy wouldn’t have assigned him an expendable crew.”
“YOU’RE NOT FAMILIAR WITH THE MODERN NAVY, THEN, ROBOUTE,” the Emperor shot back. When he caught sight of his son’s grimace, he sighed. “SORRY. THAT WAS OUT OF LINE. I CAN’T NOT WORRY ABOUT HIM, THOUGH. HE COULD BE LOST TO US.”
“We could find out where his ship was heading from the Navigator, if you can contact him. Or the ship’s Astropath,” Guilliman put in.
“I’VE BEEN TRYING!” the Emperor roared. “THE NAVIGATOR’S DEAD, AND THE ASTROPATH IS GONE. I DON’T THINK HE’S DEAD, BUT HE’S NOWHERE I CAN CONTACT HIM. IN A WARP STREAM, OR COMATOSE, OR SOMETHING.”
“We will look for him, then. We can send a ship to his last known coordinates, and have them scan for anything in the vicinity.”
“NO POINT,” the Emperor said dejectedly. “HE’S STILL IN THE WARP. JUST NOWHERE I CAN FIND. DAMN IT.”

The Eternity Gate strained at its hinges for a moment, as it parted just enough to admit a few more people, then slid shut. Leman Russ and Primarch Jaghatai Khan of the White Scars walked in, and each bowed before their enormous father for a moment. At his psychic instruction, both stood at ease.
“Any luck, my Emperor?” Russ asked. The Emperor shook his head.
“SADLY NOT. I WISH I COULD RELAY BETTER NEWS, BUT…”
“Yes. Well. Nothing we can do but hope for the best and trust in his ability to improvise,” Russ said, not even trying to conceal his disappointment. The Emperor took note.
“LEMAN, JAGHATAI, I WANT YOUR OPINIONS ON SOMETHING AS LONG AS YOU’RE HERE. YOU TOO, ROBOUTE.”
“Certainly, my Liege. What is it?” Guilliman asked on their behalf.
“HUMANITY’S EXPANSION INTO THE GALAXY HAS BEEN ONE OF PHYSICAL CONSUMPTION. THIS IS ONLY PART OF WHAT I HAD INTENDED, AS YOU’LL NO DOUBT RECALL. I WANTED HUMANITY’S MARCH FORWARD TO BE AS MUCH AN IMPROVEMENT AS A RECLAMATION.”
“Weaning humanity off of robots and ushering in true, safe psychic power,” Guilliman supplied.
“RIGHT. INCIDENTALLY, WHERE’S LION?”
“En route, Father,” Jaghatai said. “He wanted to make sure Corax was up and about first. His recovery has been slow.”
“For him, anyway,” Russ quipped.

9-081-001-M42
In his cabin, Vulkan was tossing and turning on the mat he had placed on the floor. He had shed his armor and pulled the mattress and padding off the bedframe, since he could never had fit on them anyway. Now he was trying to wrest a few fitful hours of sleep before being called up to the bridge to replace He’Stan. It had bothered him somewhat that the entire crew of the ship had so willingly and completely bowed to his authority in the matter, but he resolved not to let that trouble him until later.
Sleep, however, was slow in coming, fitful, and wracked with dreams. Almost as soon as he fell asleep, he started dreaming, in fact, as vividly as he ever had in his life. Blissful fantasies, horrid nightmares, all swirled together to create a bizarre mélange.
He saw himself hand in hand with a putrid, shambling daemon wearing his brother Lorgar’s face, a beautiful young woman with his eyes embracing a man he didn’t recognize, an aged and scarred Tu’Shan cleaving an Ork clean in half while a Kommando crept up on him. He saw a Princeps walking his Titan into a volcano on Prometheus while his crew screamed at him to stop, a harem of terrified children dragged in chains onto a Salamanders battle barge by a sadistic Dark Eldar. Most of all, he saw the girl, running and giggling with other girls her age, panting and writhing beneath the man from before, old and grey and surrounded by others. The visions swirled together, and they all seemed to be so real…
He awoke, gasping and sweating, his hand scrabbling at the deck next to him, unconsciously searching for the faithful iron chisel that had become his lifeline to sanity and defense on the unnamed Daemon World upon which he had been trapped for so long. He spotted it on the belt of his armor and sighed, his nerves calming.

>>17087642
I love your stuff so much, it's actually making it harder for me to tolerate this godawful game system that someone found, which I am critiquing by making a character and having a simple encounter. I would Infinitely rather be Here, reading YOUR stuff than over There writing my stuff.

His vox beeped and he nearly lunged at it, still tense as a bridge cable from the nightmares. He calmed himself and inserted it back into his ear. “Vulkan here.”
“My Lord, it’s Lieutenant Commander Wilcox, on the bridge,” the voice on the other side said. “Lord Ir’Shal wanted me to tell you that the end of the Warp stream is near.”
“What?” Vulkan asked. He cleared his throat and asked another question before Ir’Shal could take offense. “How does he know?”
“I know because the Astropath says he can almost taste it, my Lord” Ir’Shal put in, having clearly been listening. “Please make your way back up to the bridge.”
“Acknowledged, brother.” Vulkan sat on the mat collecting his thoughts for a moment before tiredly heaving himself back up and into his armor, which he blearily fastened on. That done, walked out to see the rest of the crew in frenzied preparation, most of them looking as out of sorts as he did.

As he stepped out on the bridge, he could see why the Astropath had said what he did: the ship’s sensors showed a definite end to the stream, and if they were close enough for the ship’s machine spirits to sense it, the Astropath could have seen it clearly. Ir’Shal turned his helmet slightly to acknowledge his Lord’s presence. “Just in time, my Lord. We will reach the end of the stream in…forty seconds.”
“Excellent work, brother,” Vulkan said, making a quick sweep of the bridge. The Warp-worn crew was performing as well as they probably could under the circumstances, given that their actual Captain was cooling off in the morgue.
“Departing the stream in…twenty seconds.” There wasn’t much else to say, really. Vulkan watched the sensor panels as the seconds ticked by…and then they were out. For nearly every soul aboard, the change was immediate. Every man on the bridge seemed to stand up a bit straighter, and a few flashed nervous grins at one another as the sense of pressure faded.
“Stream is behind us. Lord Ir’Shal, Lord Vulkan, permission to exit the Warp?” Wilcox asked from the maneuvering station, just below the now-empty Navigator’s Quarters.
“Take us out, Commander. Come what may,” Ir’Shal said grimly.
“Aye aye. Opening rift…rift opened.” Wilcox’s augmetic limbs darted over the controls, pulling brass handles and pressing runic buttons. The ship’s hull shook for a bit, and Vulkan felt the familiar brief sense of nausea that always accompanied a Warp transition rile his stomach.

The arrival of a ship on the fringes of the system caused an immediate alert in its inhabitants. First, a tiny unmanned drone in the halo pinged the opening of a Warp rift, and registered its horrifying potency…far more than a ship that would normally visit the system could generate.
That drone dipped into the Warp itself for a fraction of a second. It then reemerged mere thousands of kilometers from the populated moon that comprised the system’s capital. The drone then beamed the data it had collected to a massive antenna on the moon’s lovely temperate surface. The data vanished into a labyrinth of computers, which promptly spat it out onto the holographic screens of a group of started Early Warning Sensor Network operators.
Those operators then passed the warning up the chain of command with the speed of Bad News, whereupon it was deposited on a single, smoothly-curved, almost organic-looking desk. After a few seconds delay, a massive blue hand reached down and casually flipped through the first few pages, before dropping it on the table. The messenger bowed low for a moment, and awaited the command he knew would come. “Shas’O? Your instruction?”
“Assemble the Air Caste defensive units in orbit and arm the surface-to-space rail cannon,” Shas’O Kes’y Fap’tau ordered, his lopsided arms crossing in anticipation. “The Imperium wants a fight. I’ll give them one.”

Ir’Shal prodded the runes on the Captain’s control board until a holographic representation of the system popped into existence in the middle of the bridge. The Master of Ships looked it over quickly. “It’s…not an Imperial system. Star pattern does not match any known stellar system.”
Vulkan heard Ir’Shal’s words, and his heart sank. It was foolish to expect that the Imperium would control the system, of course – less than 15% of the galaxy was Imperial – but he had still hoped. Despite his brother’s words, though, a sense of recognition tugged at his memory. The system wasn’t a human one, but it WAS familiar…somehow.
“Master Ir’Shal, an object has been detected heading in our direction,” the officer at the sensor station reported. “It’s rated at interceptor size, moving under power. Approximately twenty four light seconds away, star-side.”
“Acknowledged. Power down Gellar field and all external lights, activate void shields. Power them as high as you can, Lieutenant,” Ir’Shal said, his authoritative voice cutting though the crew’s nervousness. He knew the crew would need that if they went into combat straight out of hell. Vulkan nodded in silent approval, glad to see Ir’Shal reacting as if the unknown object was a threat.

“Gellar field powered down, my Lord, external lights extinguished. Shields to maximum. Sub-light engines are online, ready for course and bearing,” Wilcox reported from his own terminal. “My Lord, we await your order.”
Vulkan tuned out the chatter on the bridge, the sense of recognition growing stronger by the minute. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he stared at the hologram of the system, focusing on the gas giants near the middle of the system’s orbits. One was orbited by what looked like three planetoids the size of Mars, easily, and nearly a hundred smaller bodies. Something about the planet was stirring memories he hadn’t thought of since…since before he left Nocturne.
He’Stan and Tu’Shan were huddled over a pair of the bridge’s weapons control stations, looking ridiculously large compared to the terminals themselves. He’Stan glanced at Vulkan for a moment, then opened a private channel to him.
“My Lord, was this anything like what you hoped you would find? Do you have any idea where we are?”
“None, except…” Vulkan’s voice trailed off.
He’Stan waited a moment before prompting. “Except what, Lord Vulkan?”
“Except the oddest feeling of déjà vu, brother,” Vulkan said, still staring at the planet in the holofield.
“Have you visited the system, Lord?” He’Stan asked.
“Not that I can remember. But then, I’ve been out of the loop for a while,” Vulkan said with tight sarcasm.

0-082-001-M42
“It’s completely out of the question,” Jaghatai said flatly.
“Utterly. I’m genuinely astounded that you would even consider it,” Lion El’Jonson added.
“I SUPPOSE THAT’S NOT A SHOCK. ALL I ASK IS THAT YOU CONSIDER ITS MERITS BEFORE DISMISSING IT AS IMPOSSIBLE.” The Emperor was sitting behind a massive gold-tinted table he had had installed in the Hall of the Throne to replace the actual Throne itself.
“Humanity stood alone as the Age of Strife began, Father! Abandoned by its alien allies and betrayed by its own creations! We learned from our mistake!” El’Jonson said heatedly. Corax nodded grimly from beside him.
“You remember, Father, they treated us like we were invading them when you were there,” Guilliman said from Jaghatai’s elbow. “Even with all the favors you owed them.”
“THE ELDAR SEE IGNORANCE IN OUR REFUSAL TO SUBMIT TO THEIR MACHINATIONS, BECAUSE SO OFTEN THEIR PLANS AND OURS ARE ENTIRELY AT ODDS. YES. WHAT IF THEY WEREN’T?” the Emperor pressed.
“The Craftworld Eldar are interested only in self-preservation and carefully nurturing their superiority complex,” Jaghatai said angrily, “and the Dark Eldar are murderous vermin, one and all, as I damn well know. Yeah, leave them to rot.”
“THE CRAFTWORLDERS ARE WILLING TO COOPERATE WITH US. THEY HAVE IN THE PAST, SEVERAL TIMES,” the Emperor said doggedly. “BEYOND THAT, THEIR GOD OWES ME A HUGE FAVOR. A LITERAL GOD OWES ME. NO WAY I’M NOT CASHING THAT IN.”

“Exchanging favors is one thing. An alliance is quite another,” Russ put in mildly. Jaghatai looked at him, confused.
“Russ, I thought you were all for this. What changed your mind?”
“I’m not in favor of an alliance. I’m in favor of mutual assistance and maybe, possibly, eventually, commerce. Nothing more,” Russ pointed out. “Just playing it fair, here.”
“NOBODY’S PROPOSING AN ALLIANCE,” the Emperor roared from his- elevated - side of the massive table. The structure sloped down nearly fifty feet to a more normal height, where the Techpriests had installed conveniently Primarch-sized seats. “ALL I’M SAYING IS THAT THE LAST THING THAT THE TWO REMAINING SIGNIFICANT EMPIRES THAT OPPOSE CHAOS, TYRANIDS, AND THE NECRONS SHOULD BE DOING IS FIGHTING EACH OTHER. ESPECIALLY NOT WHEN THEIR LEADERS OWE EACH OTHER FAVORS.”
Russ nodded slowly. “Stranger things have happened since I got back to reality.”
“I can’t believe I just heard you say that, Leman,” Corax said. “You of all people.”
“Why not?” Russ countered. “You know me. I’m a practical kinda guy. Beyond that, the Eldar have aligned with us before.”
“It’s a heresy and a crime against the Imperial Truth,” El’Jonson said hotly.
“From what I understand, the word ‘heresy’ has taken on rather new meanings since last I checked,” Guilliman muttered bitterly. “And the Truth has been left to the wayside.”
“TO BE HONEST, THAT’S A DEEPER RUNNING PROBLEM THAN THE ELDAR.” He turned his glowing purple eyes to Guilliman. “ALSO, ROBOUTE, IF ANYONE IN THIS ROOM STANDS TO GAIN FROM THIS, IT’S YOU. THE ULTRAMARINES HAVE MADE DEALS WITH ELDAR AND OTHER XENOS IN THE PAST.”

“They have?” Guilliman said in surprise. “When?”
“RATHER OFTEN, FROM WHAT I HEAR,” the Emperor said. “INDEED, I UNDERSTAND THE TAU WOULDN’T BE HALF THE THREAT THEY ARE IF THE ULTRAMARINES AND BLOOD ANGELS HADN’T THROWN THEIR EVERYTHING INTO SLAUGHTERING THE TYRANIDS ALONGSIDE TAU EXPANSION FLEETS.”
Guilliman struggled to find words for a moment, much to Russ’ private amusement. “I…suppose I can’t get angry at the Chapter if I don’t know why they did these things. Are the Ultramarines the ONLY chapter to have done this?”
“HELL NO, EVERY FIRST AND SECOND FOUNDING CHAPTER HAS, TO SOME EXTENT, AND HUNDREDS MORE BESIDES, INCLUDING THE GREY KNIGHTS.”
Guilliman was silent for another few uncomfortable moments before sighing aloud. “I trust that my successors had their reasons.”
“SO DID I. CORAX, YOU LOOK UNCONVINCED.”
“I am, Sire,” Corax said, mustering his thoughts. “The Eldar have no reason to trust us. None. Whatever individual acts of cooperation between us there may have been in the past, they can’t overcome ten thousand years of war.”
“EXCEPT WHEN THEY HAVE TO. YOU AND JAGHATAI BOTH SAID BEFORE THAT THE ELDAR WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO SURVIVE. THEY KNOW FULL WELL THAT THEY ARE A DYING RACE, CORAX; IF ALLYING WITH US CAN BUY THEM A FEW MORE MILLENNIA OF INCREASED STABILITY, A FEW THOUSAND MORE YEARS OF ONLY HAVING TO WORRY ABOUT CATASTROPHIC PROBLEMS THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH US, I GUARANTEE IT’LL PERK UP SOME EARS ON THE WARLOCK COUNCILS,” the Emperor said reasonably. Russ snorted at the mental image that produced, but said nothing.

“BEYOND THAT, ONE OF THE BIGGEST RESOURCE DRAINS ON CRAFTWORLD ELDAR FLEETS IS HAVING TO PROTECT THEIR EXODITE WORLDS FROM IMPERIAL COLONY FLEETS AND ORDOS XENOS KILL TEAMS. IF WE INSTRUCTED THE MECHANICUM AND INQUISITION TO LEAVE THEM ALONE THAT WOULD SAVE THE CRAFTWORLDS MILLIONS OF LIVES,” the Emperor added. “THAT MATTERS MORE TO THEM THAN ANY TRADE PACT OR INFORMATION BROKERING.”
El’Jonson stared at the tiny Aquilla engraved in the table in front of each seat. Very slowly and deliberately, he spoke up. “I find the idea of a resurgent Humanity allying itself with Xenos repulsive. But…I suppose, now of all times, we have…far greater problems to worry about. For now.”
Corax shifted uncomfortably as the throbbing pain in his wrist flared up. He gingerly lifted his arm and set it on the table as Russ nodded. “I agree with Lion. We’ve got bigger fish to murder.”
“Why did you wait until after Vulkan was gone to discuss this, Father?” Jaghatai asked.
“I DIDN’T. I ASKED HIM FOR HIS OPINIONS BEFORE HE EVEN LEFT,” the Emperor roared. “HE SAID HE WOULD SUPPORT WHATEVER AGREEMENT THE REST OF US REACH. TRUTH BE TOLD,” the Emperor confided, lowering his ear-splitting voice by an unnoticeable degree, “HE THOUGHT IT WAS A WORTHY IDEA THAT SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT BE PURSUED AT THE COST OF THE IMPERIUM’S CURRENT SURVIVAL. IF WE CAN GET THE ELDAR OUT OF OUR COLLECTIVE HAIR AND MAYBE GET SOME OF THEIR TECHNOLOGY OUT OF THE DEAL, HE’S ALL FOR IT.”
“Gearhead,” Russ said fondly.
“ALWAYS WAS. I SUSPECT MANUS WOULD HAVE SAID THE SAME IF HE WERE HERE,” the Emperor said.

“Are we distinguishing between Craftworld Eldar, Corsairs, Exodites, and Commorragh Eldar here?” Jaghatai asked, determined not to be swayed by nostalgia.
“OBVIOUSLY. THE EXODITES ARE NO THREAT TO ANYONE, AND THE CRAFTWORLDERS WILL BE OPEN TO NEGOTIATION AS I’VE SAID, BUT THE CORSAIRS ARE NO BETTER THAN ORK PIRATES, AND THE DARK ELDAR ARE VERMIN TO BE EXTERMINATED,” the Emperor replied.
“Good answer, Sire,” Jaghatai said, his own hatred of the Dark Eldar flaring up in his memories, undimmed by ten thousand years of cursing their foul race in the Webway.
“If the consensus is in favor, I won’t oppose it,” Corax said resignedly, “if only because the Imperium needs consensus now more than ever before. But I want it noted that I think this is grounded in good intentions destined to fail.”
“DULY NOTED, SON. LION?”
El’Jonson slowly ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and sighed through clenched teeth. “…Fine. I’ve got bigger problems. Much bigger problems,” he muttered darkly.
“LEMAN?”
Russ stared at Jaghatai for a moment before returning his gaze to the Emperor. “I’ll support a mutual non-aggression pact, if it comes to it. I suspect selling it to the wolf brothers will be hard, but…I’ll do it.”
“ALL RIGHT. ROBOUTE?”
Guilliman closed his eyes in thought, speaking slowly. “If it’s not unprecedented, then…I’ll consider it. I suppose I do owe Ulthwé my life, if nothing else.”
“JAGHATAI?”
Jaghatai shook his head emphatically. “I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t agree to this. I’ve just heard too much about how the Dark Eldar and Craftworlders…hell, all of them, really…they’re just too damned willing to co-operate. My own history aside, if it comes down to either aiding Commorragh or aiding Terra, they’ll aid Commorragh.”

“WOULD WE DO LESS?” the Emperor asked. “I UNDERSTAND YOUR RECALCITRANCE, THOUGH, I REALLY DO. IF WE GO AHEAD WITH THIS, WILL YOU SUPPORT IT?”
“If I’m directly ordered to, then I’m directly ordered to, and I won’t disobey,” Jaghtai said simply, shaking his head with a scowl.
“I UNDERSTAND. THEN BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE THRONE – NOT THAT I HAVE ONE ANY MORE – NEGOTIATIONS WILL OPEN VIA THE CHANNEL WE ALREADY OPENED ON ULTHWÉ. I’LL PROBABLY BE TALKING TO ELDRAD DIRECTLY. IN ANY CASE, THANK YOU FOR YOUR INPUT, MY SONS. SHIPS FROM THE STRIKE FORCE YOU AND DANTE BROUGHT WITH YOU, CORAX, ARE BEING PREPPED TO SEND YOU BACK TO YOUR OWN HOMEWORLDS. I’D SEND YOU MYSELF, BUT I NEED TO STAY AND HELP CLEAN UP THE MESS FULGRIM MADE OF HIVE LUCRESTI.”
“Yes, Father,” Guilliman answered for them all as they stood up to leave. Corax remained in his seat , waiting for the others to leave. As Jaghatai crossed the threshold, Corax stood.
“Father, I haven’t really had a chance to ask. You know what I did before I headed into the Eye?”
“OF COURSE,” the Emperor said heavily. “WHAT OF IT?”
“Guess,” Corax said drily.
“CORAX.”
“Fine. My Liege, I was following your instructions verbatim and failed utterly. I was devastated by the mistake. You know what I felt I had to do in penance.”
“I DO.”
“And…have I paid for it fully?”
“OBVIOUSLY, MY SON. FAR WORSE CRIMES WOULD HAVE BEEN FORGIVEN BY THE PENANCE YOU BORE,” the Emperor said, with some surprise. Corax nodded, a weight lifting from his shoulders.
“I would have mentioned it before, but, well…you know. Imminent doom,”
“YOU’LL GET USED TO IT AROUND HERE, SON, BELIEVE ME,” the Emperor said wearily. “NOW THEN. HOW’S THE WRIST?”
“Agony incarnate, but it’ll heal; Draigo’s man got to it in time,” Corax said, hefting the bandaged limb.

9-083-001-M42
The Swift coasted along through space, its shields still locked at full. Whatever the object that had been closing on them was, it wasn’t in a hurry to close now, and had drifted into the Swift’s wake without firing. It was keeping a steady distance of a few light-seconds behind them.
“My Lord, the moon of that gas giant is now 1,015 light seconds from our position. Barring catastrophic engine loss, we will reach it in…one day and change,” Wilcox reported from his station.
“Acknowledged,” Ir’Shal said, his own mechadendrite dancing over the controls. “Weapons?”
“Dorsal batteries at ready. Target still out of range, sir. Flank batteries charged, but they can’t target the contact from their position. Torpedoes armed, but no targets in range,” He’Stan reported.
“Master Ir’Shal, do you have anything in the ship’s cogitator banks about this object’s origin?” Wilcox asked.
“Negative, this ship’s sensor package isn’t powerful enough to identify it from this distance,” Ir’Shal replied after checking.
“My money’s on a sensor drone from some xenos race,” He’Stan said over the Salamander’s private vox channel. “We could be outside the Astronomican for all we know.”
“Doubtful, but not impossible,” Ir’Shal replied. “Lord Vulkan, we could deactivate the Void shields, to increase our speed considerably.”
“We could. Is it safe? I don’t know,” Vulkan said.
“Nor I. It is simply a suggestion,” Ir’Shal said.

0-083-001-M42
Jaghatai Khan was distracted. No matter how much he tried to look forward to returning to Mundus Planus, all he could hear was his own words in the Hall of the Throne. “Yeah, of course I said that,” he muttered bitterly, “of course I said I would go along with it. Not like I have a reason to disagree, oh no.”
“My Lord, are you asking me something?” a rather terrified Palace servant asked from a few paces ahead, where he struggled to carry the White Scar’s minimal luggage.
“No, no, just being bitter,” Jaghatai sighed. “Forget it.”
“Yes, My Lord. Ah, we’re here, Lord,” the man said, opening the ornately carved door to the small ancillary Palace shuttle bay. The Khan squinted, looking over the small collection of shuttles and fast attack fighters in the bay. He grunted approval.
“At least Father recognizes the need for a quick defense,” he said, quieter than the servant could hear. The servant scuttled over to a cargo servitor and deposited the luggage on the former Ogryn’s frame.
“Your armor and one of the holy Raven’s Attack Bikes has been stored on the second shuttle in line, your Lordship,” the servant said, gesturing at the vessel in question. The servitor rumled to life and waddled aboard the indicated ship.
“Very well, thank you,” the Khan said, walking aboard. A small crew was already busily pestering the ship’s machine spirits to lift as he settled himself in, and soon enough, they did.
The shuttle’s co-pilot poked his head around the door to the passenger compartment. “We’re headed up to the Endurance-class cruiser Temperence, my Lord Primarch. It will bear you to Mundus Planus, as per your request.”
“Very well,” Jaghatai responded, leaning back to steal some sleep.

9-085-001-M42
“Damn your face, I ordered the railgun be prepped TWO DAYS AGO!” Shas’O Fap roared, leveling his massive arm at the terrified Earth Caste builder standing in front of his desk.
“I know, Shas’O, I know, and we’re genuinely sorry for the delay, but the cryocooler was off-line for upgrades, and we can’t re-install it before the Imperials get within range,” the builder said hastily.
“Sorry? You’re not sorry. Not yet. GET THE GUN ONLINE!” the lopsided Tau roared.
“Yes, sir! I beg your forgiveness!” the builder said obsequiously, bowing out of the room as fast as it could. The door slid shut and Shas’O Fap slid angrily back into his seat, fuming.
“Fucking Imperials come to challenge the Greater Good in MY SYSTEM, and the main gun isn’t even operational. Unacceptable,” he grumbled, whipping his glove back off. “What does a Tau need to do to get four or five minutes uninterrupted quiet around here?”
“Shas’O, this is Orbital Defense Command, Air 1,” his radio blared suddenly, ruining the building mood. “The ship on approach has been identified. It’s an Imperial Cobra-class destroyer, ID code unknown. It’s armed and its shields are active, but its FTL is giving off an unknown signal. It may be damaged, sir. No escort ships sighted.”
“Yeah fine great,” he managed, slapping the off-switch as fast as he could, before returning to his ‘work.’ “Never a dull moment around here, I tell ya.”

Vulkan slowly paced back and forth in his quarters, stewing the situation in his head. The planet had defenses, that much was obvious from the sensor readings from orbit, but the data the sensors returned was worrying. The ships in orbit looked like nothing the Salamander has ever seen, though they matched the descriptions of the xenos called the “Tau” that Dante had given him.
That was a whole other set of concerns, there. Before he had left Terra, the Emperor had debated with him for some time, on the merits of ignoring or allying with the Eldar. Would the Tau, which the Emperor and Dante alike had described as pseudoegalitarian, be willing to simply assist them in leaving if offered something of value? And why did the system look so familiar when the Imperium had never controlled it?
His helmet vox buzzed for a moment, drawing his attention. “Lord Vulkan, this is Lieutenant Commander Wilcox again. We’ll be in range of the outermost orbital weapons soon.”
“Acknowledged. Any signs of overt hostility?” Vulkan asked, as he ceased his pacing and walked into the corridor.
“Negative. Our shields wouldn’t be able to last long against the surface weapon’s fire, though.”
Vulkan froze, one foot hanging mere centimeters above the deck. The formless sense of recognition that had been drifting through his mind since he saw the star map coalesced in a heartbeat, and realization was enough to restart his movement, rather more urgently than it had been before.

“I see, Vulkan out,” he said as quickly as he decently could, then cut the channel. He paged He’Stan at once as he reached the cargo lift that would bring him to the bridge. “Brother He’Stan, join me on the bridge NOW. The situation is more complicated than we suspected.”
“Aye, my Lord,” He’Stan replied. “I’m already on the bridge.”
“Good, stay put. Damn it all, why here, now?”
“Lord Vulkan?” He’Stan asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Recall the prophesy of the Unbound Flame, brother?” Vulkan asked as the lift crept up to the right level.
“ ‘The stars spin twice, ‘round the guarded crypt. The light of a sun shines on the doors, though it is hard to find, and temperamental. Below all sits the Flame, Unbound, Eternal, strong and untarnished. The ground parts and weeps where its bearers walk, as the sky is filled with green,’” He’Stan recited instantly.
“Exactly, brother. Now look at the moon we’re approaching.”
He’Stan looked over the holofield of the ever-growing moon, scanning it for details. The moon was about what he had thought it to be: Mars-sized, and with tiny white dots on the poles where ice caps had formed. Thin blue oceans were spread over the wind-swept surface, with large, blocky continents between them. “I see it, brother.”
“Now look at the sensor output and tell me what it says the most common gas in the atmosphere of the gas giant is,” Vulkan instructed.
“Er…radon, sir,” He’Stan reported, feeling a bit sandbagged.
“Now tell me what color radon emits when it’s subjected to electric current.”
“Green…oh. OH.”
“The Unbound Flame sits in an alien crypt on that moon, and we’re going to retrieve it, come Warp or quake,” Vulkan said with grim satisfaction. “I’d stake my soul on it.”

0-085-001-M42
“You’re stalling, Leman,” Roboute Guilliman said.
“No, just taking my time, brother,” Russ said coolly. They were standing in one of the innumerable luxury apartments in the Palace where diplomats from far-flung portions of the Imperium would stay while waiting to make a case to the High Lords, where he had decided to stay until he could return to his Chapter.
“To what end?” Guilliman asked. “You could go back to Fenris at any time you wanted. All the Astartes forces that Corax and I brought with us have left now, even Dante. Corax left this morning, I’m leaving tomorrow, Lion’s probably half way to The Rock, Jaghatai left last night. Are you even planning on leaving?”
“Don’t get testy with me, Brother, it won’t end well for you,” Russ snarled. Guilliman stared Russ down, completely unafraid of his brother’s posturing.
“It’s Bjorn, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
Russ kept glaring at Guilliman for a few more seconds before relenting. “…Yes. Fuck. Fuck! What if he was telling the truth? Is that what I want to see when I go home?”
Guilliman nodded silently. “How do you want to handle it?”
“I don’t even want to think about it. But…I should just contact them via astropath and let them know I’m coming. Harald and Grimnir will have told them I’m back, but I didn’t tell them when I would be heading back to Fenris.”
“So go unannounced,” Guilliman said, smiling faintly. “Go without advance notice. See if things really are as they say.”
“Surprise my own battle brothers?” Russ asked in confusion.
“Why not? If you’re afraid of what you’ll find, it’s best to see it unadorned and unornamented, isn’t it?” Guilliman asked reasonably.
Russ inhaled deeply, and slowly let it out. “You’re right. Damn it. I should just get this over with.”

6-085-001-M42
“Forward, Angels of Death!” Lord Commander Dante roared, the flames of his Assault Jump pack flaring behind him like a miniature sun. The septet of Assault Terminators behind him followed suit, their Lightning Claws gleaming in the sunlight. The eight Power Armored Astartes landed amongst the startled pack of Hrud they had been targeting, ripping several to shreds in moments.
The leader of the shambling herd of xenos clutched a primitive stubber in its filthy claws, and hosed the nearest Terminator down. He may as well have been throwing spitballs; the Terminator was close enough to simply flex his elbow and throw the monster back a pace, toppling the Hrud into its still-standing fellows. Dante sighted the thrashing pile of aliens and incinerated them all with a burst of fire from the Perdition Pistol, grimacing in distaste as he did so.
“Filthy Hrud,” he said, carefully wiping his axe on the shriveling grass next to the pile of ash.
“Permission to ask a question, Lord Dante?” one of the Terminators asked, staring at the aliens’ remains.
“Granted, brother-Sergeant,” Dante replied, glancing back at them.
“I understand that these…’bendies’ are to be exterminated wherever they’re found, my Lord, but why were you dispatched here? Surely, with the Emperor’s personal return, you could have been assigned a more…vital task,” the Terminator said respectfully.
“Because Rordek is a vital agri-world, and I would rather be here sharpening my blade on Hrud skin than sitting in a transport brooding,” Dante snapped. “Besides, it’s between Terra and Baal. More than that, you need neither know nor question.”
“As you will, my Lord,” the Terminator said, bowing his head.

Dante’s vox beeped. “Lord Commander, this is Brother Mephiston. The Hrud infestation source has been located: the sewage tunnels adjacent to the cargo spaceport. They must have ridden in on one of the heavy agri-freighters,” his Chief Librarian’s gravelly voice reported.
Dante nodded with satisfaction. “I guessed as much. Numbers?”
“Disconcerting,” Mephiston confessed. “I would guess nine thousand at least. They’re-”
“Nine thousand?” Dante said in shock. “How is that even possible? There aren’t even ten million humans on the whole planet!”
“The sewer tunnels extend as far as six hundred miles from the starport, my Lord. Sewage plants the size of cities process the grit and shuck from farms that span continental bodies. If the Hrud infested the entire tunnel network, they would have almost unlimited space to breed,” Mephiston pointed out.
Dante was silent for a long moment. “We have only two hundred Marines on this planet, and the PDF is all but spent. If we take each tunnel individually, we could be here for centuries.”
“We may not need to, my Lord,” Mephiston voxed grimly. “The Hrud are congregating at the spaceport. The tunnel walls of the sewage network are visibly crumbling, such are their numbers.”
Dante thought that over. There was precious little available to them here, the Dark Angel and Raven Guard task forces having dispersed back to where they had been before the Emperor diverted them. The rest of the Zargh 3 taskforce was either helping mop up on Earth, or returning to Segmentum Command for fresh instructions. He had only a Strike Cruiser and a few Falchions at his disposal in orbit – not enough to target enemies underground with any degree of accuracy.

“Gather the Sanguinary Guard and whatever Dreadnoughts we have available at the spaceport and set up a cordon,” Dante said. “I am en route. Have we any vehicles left?”
“Two Land Speeders, a Stormraven, and a single Predator, Baal variant,” Mephiston replied.
“Dispatch them to the spaceport as well,” Dante ordered. “They will hold the rear as we advance into the tunnels.”
“As ordered, my Lord,” Mephiston acknowledged, cutting the channel. Dante turned to his Terminators.
“Brothers, the heart of the xenos infestation has been found. The sewers beneath the spaceport are packed with them. We must go to Brother Mephiston’s aid.”
“Acknowledged, Lord Commander,” the nearest Terminator spoke on behalf of the others. “Estimated strength?”
“Significant. Nine battalion strength. Maybe more,” Dante said, signaling for their Thunderhawk to come and retrieve them.
“How could there be that many when the infestation began mere years ago?” the Terminator asked.
“Apparently, there was breeding space. What I’d rather know is how the colonists managed to miss an infestation that large,” Dante said disapprovingly. “Hrud are hard to miss.”

“Hold! Hold, in the Emperor’s name!” Mephiston roared, hurling a frag grenade at the roiling mass of grey flesh and cloth. The grenade detonated a mere few centimeters from the charging horde of Hrud, blasting a hole in their front line and throwing shattered weapons about. A Furioso Dreadnaught next to him took advantage of the opening, spraying his pair of storm bolters at the standing Hrud on either side of the gap. It simply wasn’t enough, though, the gray vermin slid out of the tunnels like water.
“Damnation, the xenos are heading for the fuel depot!” Mephiston snarled, stepping back a pace and focusing his energies.
“Brother, do it now!” the Furioso said, taking a step aside to fill the gap left by the Librarian’s withdrawal. It pivoted at the waist and opened up with both storm bolters again, this time adding its melta’s fire to the effort. The rest of the Marines stationed across the spaceport – which was nothing more than some pipes, flat areas for fixed-wingcraft, a tower, and some VTOL pads – were rushing over as fast as they could, but the Hrud were inexorable.
The Furioso caught a full salvo of bolter fire across the shoulder, and one off its robotic arms flew off in a shower of rubble. Undaunted, the Dreadnought pivoted again, maintaining fire from its other arm. “Hurry, brother! I can’t hold them!”
“BURN, IN THE EMPEROR’S FLAME!” Mephiston roared, sweeping his hands forward as the Dreadnought lurched aside. The Hrud at the front of the pack suddenly halted, gibbering in fear.

Even as they watched, a gigantic golden angel swept down from the sky, brandishing a gigantic blue claymore. Before it could arrive, it raised its free hand, pointing it at them. A black mist erupted from its hands, reaching out towards the tightly-packed front ranks of the Hrud charge. The aliens squealed and split, arresting their charge completely, trying to avoid the mist.
Mephiston and the Dreadnought wasted no time, sweeping the aliens with plasma, bolter, and melta fire. The other Blood Angels from the spaceport added what fire they could as they charged in from their patrol routes, slicing the gray mass apart. With a horrible chittering, the herd of aliens retreated back into the tunnel from which they had erupted, some firing wildly over their shoulders.
“Fire! Fire! Breach the tunnel!” Mephiston commanded, suiting actions to words as he fired his plasma pistol down the tunnel after the retreating xenos. The apparition of the golden angel vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, since it had only been a projection of Mephiston’s.

The walls of the gently down-sloping tunnel evaporated under the concentrated fire of the Blood Angels, spraying concrete dust and chunks of rebar around the grassy battlefield. After a few more seconds, Mephiston raised a clenched fist, and the Angels’ fire ceased instantly. He concentrated for a moment, focusing his psychic powers down the tunnel, but sensed nothing but the Hrud fleeing.
“They withdraw, brothers,” Mephiston said, hiding his relief. “Lord Dante will arrive shortly. We must prepare for the Hrud’s return. Begin fortifying.”
“Aye, brother,” one of the newly-arrived Marines said, jogging back over to his parked Land Speeder. Mephiston turned to the damaged Dreadnought.
“Venerated brother, see to your injury. Lord Dante,” he added, reopening his vox, “where are you?”
“Two minutes out, brother,” Dante’s voice came back. “What happened?”
“The Hrud saw me scouting the tunnel and attacked, my Lord,” Mephiston confessed. “The Hrud have been repelled – I projected Fear of the Darkness upon them – but they are massing. I sense that most of the nest may be on its way here.”
“Nine battalions of Hrud…” Dante trailed off. He didn’t need to continue, those numbers could overwhelm any standing force he brought with him. The fact that there was only one exit from the tunnel would not help them one bit: the Hrud disintegrate when they die, so even a wall of corpses would not remain an obstacle for long.

Within minutes, the spaceport was looking worse for wear. The ships in orbit had done what they could to drop fortifications, but a few bolter turrets were the best they could do under the circumstances. The other Blood Angels had raced in to Mephiston’s position, reinforcing it as best they could, dragging bits of shattered concrete from the tunnels into mounds they could use as cover. A pair of Techmarines scrambled to repair the damaged Furioso, trying to reattach its severed arm. The vehicles Mephiston had listed to Dante before were carefully driven into place, leaving several dozen meters between the gaping mouth of the breached tunnel and the Marine’s desperate defensive emplacement.
The piles of Hrud corpses had partially dissolved, their putrid remains flowing back down the tunnel in rivulets. The bits of clothes and the weapons they left behind lay where they were dropped, most damaged by whatever had killed their former owners.
Dante himself, accompanied by the members of the Sanguinary Guard, was overseeing the placement of the defenses. The scout contingent that accompanied the Marines were set up on the balcony of the spaceport tower, where they could cover the spread of the entire gap. The gunship was busily retrieving the few Marines who weren’t already present, ferrying them to battle as fast as it could.
“Brother, how long before the creatures regain their courage?” Dante asked quietly.
“Not…long, Lord Dante,” Mephiston said, glancing over at the ominous gap in the pipe. “It will be overwhelming. I can sense the entire brood down there.”
“What’s infuriating is that they will approach all at once,” Dante said bitterly. “If this were a field engagement, with their forces arrayed against ours, we could probably handle 45-1 odds. But all of them at the same time, from a single exit point,” he said, his voice trailing off.

“That single exit point will be our saving grace, my Lord,” Mephiston said. “They can’t exit that tunnel more than ten abreast. We’ll hold them capably until we start running into ammunition problems.”
“Assuming they don’t find another exit nearby,” Dante pointed out. “If they do, they could flank us with ease, since we’ve more or less had to focus our defense in a single spot.”
“Naturally. If there’s another entrance to the sewer tunnels, though, it’s nowhere aboveground, or we’d have seen it by now,” Mephiston said. Before Dante could reply to that, a hideous keening squeal erupted from the tunnel mouth.
“Defensive positions, brothers! The Hrud advance!” Dante said over his vox. The Techmarines ignored the order, fixated on reattaching the Dreadnought’s arm. The rest of the Angels scattered behind the piles of concrete and the bolter turrets, sighting the entrance of the tunnel.
For several tense seconds, nothing seemed to change at all. Then, from the tower, the distinct double *crack* of an Astartes scout rifle sounded, and a Hrud stumbled out of the tunnel with a crater in its torso.
That was the signal, apparently. Another several Hrud bolted out of the tunnel, spotted the Marines, and sprinted for their position as fast as their twisted legs could take them.

Even as another four double *cracks* sounded off from the tower, and another four Hrud crumpled around their impact wounds like tissue paper round a brick, Dante pumped his clenched fist twice, and the Land Speeders opened up on the tunnel mouth, shredding the aliens which were starting to emerge. The bolts detonated amongst them, casting the survivors about. It didn’t even seem to slow the rest of the horde down, as nearly a dozen more came running from the gap after a moment’s pause.
“Now!” Dante roared, gesturing at the tunnel. Right on queue, one of the Devastator units in his impromptu group of defenders squeezed his detonator. A pack of satchel charges down the tunnel from where the Hrud were pouring out detonated, breaking the tunnel roof and collapsing it on the Hrud within, crushing them in a burst of viscous gray fluid.
Dante smiled behind his mask at the sight, but his satisfaction was short lived. His Devastator’s calculations must have been off, because rather than collapse the tunnel, it simply blew the roof down, allowing the Hrud to continue to pass. Sure enough, the number of aliens emerging from the tunnel mouth was undiminished.
Dante stared, looking over the gap of the tunnel, trying to see what he was missing. The Hrud weren’t Orks, they had no reason to just throw themselves at their defenses like cattle. So why were they throwing dozens of their troops away?

Within seconds, he had his answer. All of his scouts ceased fire at once, and their vox channel dissolved into panicked shouts. Dante spun around, and watched in horror as a group of Hrud with wicked-looking knives set upon the scouts on their balcony…coming from inside the building!
“Stormraven! Double back and cover the tower!” Dante ordered, turning his gaze back to the tunnel, where nearly a hundred Hrud were now crouched, firing from behind cover. A spattering of stub rounds glanced off his armor, and he ducked back, cursing himself for a fool. Of course the Hrud were throwing themselves at the Blood Angels: they had had the means of denying the Angels their long-range cover from the beginning. Even as the Stormraven whirled about in mid-air to hose down the Hrud now bolting for cover on the balcony over the corpses of the scouts, the tiny hangar on the side of the airstrip next to the VTOL pad erupted in gray-skinned aliens as well.
Mephiston spotted the xenos emerging from the hangar and cursed. There was no way he could have failed to detect the presence of so many aliens so close…so were there tunnel entrances under the hangar and control tower? For disposing of fuel leaks, perhaps? He sighted down his plasma pistol and fired, though at that range he was too far to do more than singe their cloaks. It served its purpose, though, scattering the first line of Hrud.

The Hrud are not artisans, but they can use a stubber as well as the humans from which they steal them. The abruptly surrounded Blood Angels were standing under a veritable hailstorm of stubber rounds now, from the tower, hangar, and tunnel. The armored units were weathering it well, protected behind their plates of ceramite and plasteel, but the lighter units and helmetless Marines were faring poorly. Dante and his men rallied quickly against the sustained projectile assault, but even Space Marines can be vulnerable when outflanked, and indeed they were.
Dante and the Sanguinary Guard were quick to react to their sudden outflanking. They and the other Assault units in their contingent fanned out, attacking the three sites with all the strength desperation can lend. The Tactical forces they left at the barricade they had erected, which now looked dangerously unprotected indeed. The Techmarines were both down, now, though one had managed to repair the Dreadnought before succumbing to the hail of stubber fire. A few shots from what looked like a hunting lasrifle bounced off of the Stormraven’s underside, and its Hurricane pivoted to sweep the gunner with bolts.
Dante ducked the flying debris and swung the Axe Mortalis low, slicing the nearest Hrud apart at the knees. He took advantage of the moment of uninterrupted breathing room to glance over the men at his side. The three members of the Sanguinary Guard at his side were still standing, but Mephiston was down, a pockmarking of bullet damage scattered across his collar and head. He was still breathing, but clearly out of it.

The other two breach points were faring no better by now. The relentless hail of fire from the base of the tower was broadening as the gradually diminishing fire from the defenders allowed more and more gunners to flee for cover and resume their attack. The Stormraven was doing its best, but its ammunition supply was not infinite, and the Hrud were directing as much fire against it as they were the men on the ground.
Eventually, it took its toll. The Stormraven lurched to one side as a bullet tore through its exposed engine, sending the aircraft into a spin. The pilot struggled with the vehicle’s controls, before a krak missile rose from the packs of Hrud at the base of the tower to slam into the lascannon slung from the vehicle’s underside. The gunship shuddered and sank, plummeting towards the ground.
To Dante’s shielded eyes, it looked like a particularly large flare had gone off. To everyone else, it looked more like a miniature sun, as the aircraft crashed down on top of the Predator, detonating both in a spectacular fireball. Dante and his team at the hanger were far enough away to escape damage, but none of the men at the barricade were: the tank had been parked at the middle of the formation. The impossibly unlucky blast blew the formation apart, with several dozen Angels torn to ribbons on the spot. The sheer size of the blast knocked the survivors off their feet.
Dante gaped at the sight until a patter of stubber rounds off his helmet snapped him back to grim reality. The heart of the Blood Angels’ defense was gone, and unless he did something quickly, the rest would die too, and probably take the planet with them. “Fall back!” he ordered over the vox, managing to keep his voice free of the bitterness he was feeling.

9-088-001-M42
Shas’O Fap paced the control deck of the surface-to-space rail cannon angrily. The Imperial ship would be entering their orbit in under ten minutes, and the Earth Caste repair team had only just finished the weapon’s upgrade. The Imperials would be short for the world if the cannon managed a shot at their reactor or bridge, but a ship that size was never easy to hit with an unguided projectile.
The pacing wasn’t helping Fire Warrior crews manning the weapon, several of whom had cast disapproving glances back at their commander when his head was turned, or when he disappeared on one of his frequent ‘bathroom’ breaks. The moon’s population was small enough that it did not warrant an Ethereal’s presence, but a Shas’O was, theoretically, ranked high enough to open fire on an Imperial vessel in their absence. If, indeed, it merited such an attack.
“Shas’O, the Imperial ship is now close enough to hail. Shall we attempt to do so?” one of the Fire Warriors asked. The lopsided veteran shrugged distractedly.
“Go ahead, Shas’Vre, but you’ll get nothing from them but vitriol and rhetoric,” he said, “followed by orbital lasers. They’ll give us a reason to slaughter them, you just watch. These Imperials aren’t interested in the Greater Good.”

“Aye.” The Fire Warrior turned to the comm board on his console and activated it. “Attention, Imperial Destroyer. You are approaching Sen’Trek, a world of the Tau Septs. Identify yourself and power down your weapons at once, or be fired upon.”
After a few tense seconds, the comm board crackled to life. “Se’Trek, this is the Imperial Navy Destroyer Swift. We have no hostile intent towards you. We have been deposited in the system by a Warp Stream.”
The comm officer jerked around in surprise and stared at the Shas’O. Fap stared at the sensor readout of the ship as it slid ever-closer to orbit. “The Stream is completely unnavigable,” the comms officer said suspiciously.
“Yes it is. We rode it blind after we collided with something,” the human’s voice came back, resonant and guarded. The ship was indeed powering down the targeting computers for its torpedo weapons, though it was leaving the energy weapons hot and ready. The tiny number of Tau ships in orbit were closing into a loose sphere around the ship, ready to act in case they did something stupid.

Vulkan stood behind Wilcox, projected what he hoped to be an aura of stability and not just intimidation. Wilcox was trying to get the Tau to listen to their plight while Ir’Shal carefully probed the surrounding ships with the Swift’s sensors. The object trailing them had resolved into a small drone vessel, bristling with sensors and shields, but no guns or Warp drive. The other ships ranged from light freighters to a smattering of void platforms, and most worryingly, a heavy frigate. The surface was sparsely populated, by the look of it, with tiny glacial caps and a wide, equatorial ocean. The continents were focused near the poles, and connected by a wide landbridge near the largest city.
The comm signal was coming from a small collection of buildings outside the city, presumably a military base. Vulkan was staring at the city, trying to figure out where the vault of the Unbound Flame was from his vantage.
“Your ship is in violation of Tau space. What is your purpose here?” the harsh, oddly accented voice asked. Wilcox looked to Vulkan. The enormous, onyx-skinned man closed his eyes for a moment and sighed faintly.
“Tell the truth. We were going home,” Vulkan said. “Dishonesty gains us nothing here.”
Wilcox nodded solemnly. “We were returning to our home system when the vessel collided with something in the Warp,” Wilcox said honestly. “We lost control and entered the Stream.”
“Then you should not be alive,” the voice on the other side started to say. Suddenly, the voice was cut off with a faint scuffling sound. Wilcox glanced up at Vulkan, whose eyes narrowed.
A new voice picked up where the other left off. “Imperials, this is Shas’O Kes’Y Fap’Tau,” a new, deeper voice put in, “commander of the garrison here. Your vessel, regardless of its origin, is in violation of our space. Withdraw at once.”

“We can not do that,” Wilcox said carefully. “The ship’s engines are damaged. We can’t enter the Warp at the moment.”
“Then fix your ship and get out,” the new alien voice growled. “Imperial warmongers are not welcome here.”
“We’re not here to pick a fight,” Wilcox pressed as Vulkan’s shoulders tightened. The last thing they needed was a space battle when they were already damaged. “We would not be here if we had a choice. If the engines can be repaired, we’ll be on our way.”
“And if they can’t?” The alien left the question hanging in the air.
Wilcox looked at Vulkan again, nervous as hell. “Then we will signal for help, and a ship will come with the parts we need,” the officer said.
“And bring more Imperial ships to my system? I think not,” the alien said, clearly done debating the subject. “If your ship is not gone within four days, local time, I will destroy it.”
“Unacceptable. I will not allow the crew and passengers of my ship to be held hostage against non-functioning engines,” Wilcox said angrily, then paled when he realized his mistake.
“ ‘Passengers?’ “ the alien asked, his voice deepening. “What passengers might these be?”
“The people I’m ferrying home,” Wilcox said, trying not to wither under Vulkan’s suddenly terrifying gaze.

“Right,” the alien said, completely unconvinced. “I’ll determine your purpose here, Imperial. By force or not.” The channel went dead.
Vulkan closed his eyes and let out a strained breath. “Wilcox…”
“I apologize, my Lord Vulkan,” the Naval officer said morosely. He sank to one knee before the looming Terminator armor Vulkan wore, head hung low. “I overstepped my bounds.”
“They would have found out eventually,” Vulkan rumbled, staring at the holomap in concentration. He’Stan opened a channel directly to Vulkan’s helmet.
“Any idea where the crypt is, brother?”
“Yes,” Vulkan said slowly. “It’s on the outskirts of a city on the river that bisects that landbridge. Getting to it will be a bastard.”
“We have a few Guard shuttles aboard,” He’Stan pointed out. “We could drop down to the crypt, enter it, remove the Flame, and be gone before the xenos know what’s going on.”
“Gone? As in returned? To our ship with no Warp drive?” Vulkan asked drily. “No, brother He’Stan. We must fix the ship’s engines before we go anywhere.”

“They want to LAND?” Fap said in bewilderment, running his hands under the faucet.
“Aye, sir, their shuttle is requesting permission to land on the moon,” the Fire Warrior at his side said. “They want to show us something.”
“Show us what?” Fap demanded.
“A tomb. They claim that they can show us a tomb here on the moon where an ancient alien race interred something. They want our assurance that they can leave once they have opened it.”
“Hah! Their strident opposition to the Greater Good has never been louder, and they expect us to simply negotiate with them over some grave site?” Fap laughed, toweling off.
“Apparently. They say their ship is damaged but reparable,” the Warrior said.
“I was there for that, thanks,” Fap growled. “These Imperials are clearly lying about something. Whether it’s the Stream or their purpose here, I can’t tell.”
“Sir?” the Warrior asked.
“Why would they know of a tomb on the moon if they came here randomly?” Fap asked, rolling his eyes. “They’re deceiving us, or trying. If their shuttle undocks from the destroyer, vaporize it.”

“Tell me you can fix it,” Vulkan said, staring at the tangled mess of wires emanating from the damaged engine access panel.
“I can fix it,” Ir’Shal said confidently. “Three days tops. Two if the machine spirits are willing.”
“Then the alien’s threat will be a hollow one,” Wilcox said with relief. He had been near to tears with shame over his failure to conceal the Salamanders’ presence on his ship, but Vulkan had pointed out that their priorities had changed to the point that he would have had to have spoken out in person anyway: they needed to reach the vault below.
“He’Stan, my Brother, can you help me with this?” Ir’Shal asked, placing both hands and his mechadendrite below the panel he was fussing with. He’Stan walked over and the two of them heaved the panel back into place. Vulkan caught Wilcox’s eye and gestured to the door.
“Acting-Captain, may I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course, my Lord,” the shorter man said, following Vulkan out of the engine room. When the two were alone, Vulkan rounded on him.
“Captain, have the Tau yielded to our request?” Vulkan asked. Wilcox was still technically a Lieutenant Commander, but as the highest ranking non-Astartes on board, he would no doubt be promoted to fill his predecessor’s rank if he survived.
“No, my Lord, but their vessels are not attempting to board or destroy us, so I have to assume they’re at least considering it,” Wilcox replied nervously.
“Let me know if they come to a conclusion,” Vulkan said, the germ of a plan taking root in his head. “These Tau are pseudoegalitarian. They won’t be able to resist a healthy donation.”

>>17088112

I would say I'm monitoring this thread if it weren't for the fact that it's 3 in the morning and I really need to sleep.
At least I will have something to enjoy when I wake up!

>>17088152
Dito.

9-093-001-M42
Isha, the Eldar Goddess of Healing and Birth, stood at the edge of the balcony attached to her suite and stared out at the Craftworld of Ulthwé. The vast, artificial construct was alive with activity, as small craft and levitating trams darted about. The Eldar of Ulthwé were returning from the abruptly-aborted 13th Black Crusade, which had skidded to a complete halt with the apparent death of Abbadon the Despoiler and the crippling loss of Isha from Nurgle’s captivity. The Ork auxiliaries the armies of Chaos had recruited were the only ones still advancing, and free of Abbadon’s guidance, they were no more of a threat than any greenskin pack.
Isha tilted her head back and let the artificial wind of the craftworld blow over her. The few weeks that had passed since her return had been a dizzying mix of confusion, sightseeing, prayer, and nightmares. The return of their Goddess and highest Farseer had restored Ulthwé’s morale like no other portent could, but Isha herself couldn’t stay.
A Black Guardian opened the balcony door and stopped through, dropping to a reverent knee. “My Lady Isha, your message has been sent. The Exodites of Menhsamesh will await your arrival.”
“They have replied already?” Isha asked, without turning.
“No, my Lady. However, they have no reason to refuse. No true child of the Eldar would,” the Guardian confessed.
Isha turned and regarded the kneeling man. “You have doubt.” It wasn’t a question.
“I do, my Lady. Never have the Craftworlders needed you more. We teeter on the brink. Your return will breathe new life into the entire race. Why would you confine yourself to a strategically insignificant Exodite backwater?”

Hey Someone else., It's NOT Not Long Poster, they guy who is writing the "Twin Crusades: The Black Crusade of Dvi-Marion." Great stuff so far, keep it up. Also I just want you to know, if you didn't already, that your criticisms are what made me revise my sub-par writefaggotry into something decent.

That said, you actually read the revised version of my two chapters? I'm just curious is all. And again, great stuff so far. Keep up the good work.

>>17088386
Here you go.

http://1d4chan.org/wiki/The_Twin_Crusades:_The_Black_Crusade_on_Marion

Tell me what you think about it later k? Now back to reading your stuff.

“Because, my child, the Eldar are not a united people. The Exodites deserve my help and protection as much as you do, and are even less able to defend themselves from the Great Enemy.” Isha turned back to the great view. “More than that, you need not know.”
“Forgive me.” The Guardian rose and genuflected. Before he could ask another question or take his leave, however, another Black Guardian shouldered his way in.
“My apologies, Lady Isha, but I have an urgent message for you from the Council of Seers,” the new Guardian said hastily. “The Emperor of Humans has specifically requested that you, Farseer Eldrad, and his daughters journey to Earth for a peace conference.”
The other Guardian stared at the messenger as if he was growing extra eyes. Isha slowly turned to face him in total disbelief. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’re joking…but what did Eldrad say?”
“Only that some debts are better paid immediately before they can collect interest, Lady Isha,” the messenger said nervously. “I’m…not sure what he meant.”
“I am,” she sighed. She glanced out at the vista one more time. “And he is right.” She turned away and walked past the two bowing Guardians. “Very well. If he goes, I shall as well. I suspect that Eldrad may actually be able to make more of a difference in the long run here, anyway.”
“With all due respect to both yourself and Farseer Eldrad, he is not a god,” the messenger pointed out.
“And for the last ten thousand years, neither was I,” Isha pointed out drily. “Send my response. I must prepare.”

“Stand your ground, brothers! Hold true, in the name of the Emperor!” Dante roared, laying into the Hrud with his blade. Mephiston lay on the ground beside him, his Sus-an membrane keeping him barely alive. The Chief Librarian had managed to crawl back to his Chapter Master, who had promptly lifted him away, along with all the other surviving Marines in their contingent and as much gene-seed as could be recovered. The three prongs of the Hrud ambush had become four, as their entropic abilities had bored a hole clean through the paving of the airstrip, allowing them yet another avenue of attack. Faced with this overwhelming and brutal assault – and the destruction of his vehicles – Dante had done the only thing he could do: retreat.
Now, he was hunkered down behind a ruined chunk of retaining wall, along with the paltry survivors of his First Company and Sanguinary Guard – half! Pitiful half! – and trying desperately to hold the line, waiting for the last survivors of the Guard and Arbites to arrive and reinforce them. This was not the way of the Blood Angels, not the swooping precision attacks of the Assault Marine, but defensive war, the purview of the Salamanders and the Iron Hands. Dante was an ingenious tactician, but this was not his forte.
The ground before the collapsed wall was invisible beneath a layer of discarded clothing and melted Hrud, spent shell casings and dropped weapons. The sky was darkening overhead as night drew on, with no sign of relief in sight.
“Lord Dante, the Arbites civilian evacuation units are finished! The last shuttles are headed into orbit. They’re requesting permission to join in the assault group,” one of the injured Sanguinary Guards said, reduced to a vox-operator by his wounds.

“Thank them and accept their offer!” Dante called shortly, ducking a swinging meat cleaver and twisting his attacker’s head off.
The Terminator next to him suddenly scoffed and hurtled a chunk of masonry at blurring speeds, bowling a group of the hissing monsters over. “I’m dry, Lord. We’ve killed thousands of the beasts, but still their foul queen does not show herself.” He didn’t need to ask if withdrawal was an option: if they left then, dozens of the gene-seeds of the fallen First Company would be lost forever. Unacceptable.
Dante didn’t respond, biting down on his comments. The grey tide was not breaking. What options did he have?
A dark cloud swirled overhead, abruptly blotting out the sun. Dante glanced upwards in surprise as an unearthly tearing sound, like a thousand sheets of cloth shredding at once, echoed even over the deafening sounds of battle. The Hrud herds stumbled to a halt, gaping at the sky. Though a few Astartes kept firing during the welcome distraction, the rest craned their heads up in horror. A Warp Rift was opening above them, a great rend in reality’s veil.
“ATTACK THE HRUD!” Dante suddenly roared, inspiration striking. He suited actions to words, cycling the power cell in the Perdition Pistol and opening fire, melting a Hrud Fusillor and bolwing his companion over. “THIS IS IT!”
“Lord Commander?” the injured Sanguinary Guard asked in perplexity. “What’s happening?”
“Something I hadn’t thought of, and probably won’t survive seeing,” Dante hissed, scooping a discarded bolter up and balancing it on the rubble, adding its fire to that of his brothers.

>>17088508
Shit_just_got_real.jpeg

A ray of light pierced the Rift, impaling the Hrud mass. The aliens tried to scatter, but their momentum was unstoppable. The sheer volume of Hrud pressing forth from the hangar, pipe, tower, and gap in the runway was forcing them closer, even as simple instinct forced them to flee.
The light bent and scattered as it struck the filthy ground beneath the dying aliens. The air around it warped, as if whatever was directing it had a specific place of arrival for it, and would accept no detours. Some of the Hrud must have noticed, because they leaped for the barrier, perhaps thinking the Space Marines offered more sanctuary than the light.
They found little. Dante’s words, underscored by the kind of urgency only a thousand years of service can impart, had spurred the Blood Angels on, and they fought with renewed vigor, driving the Hrud back. The rip above them continued spilling out its eldritch light, twisting and burning.
Abruptly, the gap widened, until a Terminator could have passed through it unobstructed. The light rippled and faded, blocked by something huge on the other side. An armored figure flew forth, held aloft on vast, blood-drenched wings. The apparition swooped low, cleaving the masses of grey alien vermin with its glowing blue glaive. Dante and the other surviving Blood Angels toned up their optics, to prevent permanent damage from the brilliant glare.

“Hail the Sanguinor!” Dante roared, watching in apprehension and awe as the golden being landed heavily, casting paving blocks and soaked robes into the air. The Sanguinor it was: the apparition that all Blood Angels knew of, though few survived the battles where it had made appearances. The Hrud obviously didn’t know: while half scurried to escape, the other half threw themselves forward, laying into the Warp being with their peculiar mix of cutting-edge and primitive weapons.
It didn’t work. The golden man swept his glaive about at waist level, carving a path through the grey-skinned filth, as Dante and his few survivors added their own contributions from the flank. Within a quarter hour of the Sanguinor’s arrival, it was all over bar the clean-up.
Dante slowly walked up to the golden warrior, the dying gurgles of the last few Hrud that had dared to exit the underground after the Sanguinor arrived fading around him. The Sanguinor was slowly lowering his blade, as the viscera that clung to it sizzled and evaporated.
“Lord of Hosts, I thank you for your deliverance,” Dante said cautiously, coming to a halt a few meters from the Warp entity. “We could not have won without you.”
“No,” the Sanguinor replied, his voice oddly muffled. “You could not. Fare thee well.” Without another word, he took flight, beating his wings and lifting off from the ground.
“Wait! Wait, I am not finished!” Dante called, inspiration striking. The Sanguinor paused above the Chapter master, moments from reentering the Warp Rift that still hung in their above them.
“What do you wish?” he asked.
Dante set his teeth, choosing his words carefully.
“I want you to meet someone.”

9-094-001-M42
“Hell no,” Eldrad said flatly.
“Farseer, I do not need your approval,” Isha said wearily. Taldeer shifted uncomfortably behind them both, caught in the middle of their verbal sparring match.
“It’s not a matter of approval.” Eldrad rubbed his eyes, marshaling his thoughts. “We can’t risk losing you again, not now.”
“In stark contrast to losing you, who are entirely expendable,” Isha said drily.
“Compared to you, yes, Lady Isha, I am,” Eldrad said doggedly. “I can go alone. I’ve coordinated with the Mon-k…humans before,” he added, noticing the psychic blank slate that was LIVII in a room nearby. Taldeer bristled.
“Father, Liady Isha, I could go in your stead. I possess rather more working knowledge of the Imperium than either of you, at this point.”
Isha grinned faintly at the mental images floating through Taldeer’s head at that statement. Eldrad slowed until Taldeer caught up with him.
“My daughter, I am no more willing to send you alone into the heart of the Imperium than I am-”
“Father.” Taldeer interrupted, coming to a halt and spinning to face him. “Enough. Even if you were up-to-date on the state of the galaxy right now, you’re still mentally and physically exhausted by your trials. I’m going.”
Eldrad stared down his stubborn daughter for a few more seconds before relenting. “Very well. On your own head be the consequences if this goes poorly.”
“Good.” Taldeer resumed her march down the hall to where the rest of the delegation was waiting. “Since the Emperor of humans already knows about LIVII and Lofn, there’s minimal risk involved for them anyway.”
“ ‘Them?’” Eldrad echoed, catching up to her and blocking her path. “You can’t be considering bringing them with you.”
Taldeer smirked proudly. “I am. And you will see exactly why.”

>>17088650
>"Hell no."
Ahahahahahahahahahaha. Eldrad you dick.

That's as far as I've gotten. I'll be dropping occasional writing chunks periodically for the next few days.

CRITIQUE ME ONII-CHAN UGUUU~

>>17088674
Awesome stuff man, awesome stuff. Although, I'd wish you would just drop Warhammer High completely and focus on this solely. But, hey, whatever man. To each his own.

I am enjoying this, not too serious and shit is actually getting done in the imperium

Vulkan reclined against the wall of the Aquilla, resplendent in his Terminator armor. He had decided that theater was more important than modesty for this venture. Tu’Shan hadn’t disagreed.
“Lieutenant Commander Wilcox, you are to resume repairs of the Warp drive and Gellar field as soon as we’re clear; our ship will attract more of their attention. Does the ship’s targeting computer have a feed from the sensorium yet?” he asked quietly.
“Affirmative, my Lord. We’re picking you up five-by. Your armor’s sensorium is breathtaking,” Wilcox’s Chief Enginseer replied for him, tracking the tiny shuttle on the ship’s many sensor suites. “We have been unable to acquire the location of the crypt, however.”
“As was expected. Is the package en route?” Vulkan asked.
“It is. Against my very specific, respectful request, my Lord,” the Enginseer said carefully.
“Noted. Vulkan out.” Vulkan slowly walked back to the ramp of the shuttle, a few of the ship’s surviving Naval Armsmen accompanying him, riot shields opacified and helm guards locked in place, polarized to max. Both stood with shock mauls and assault shotguns prominently stowed, the stocks of their shotguns and sidearms jutting out from their slings, ready to be drawn and fired from the hip in microseconds. Neither man would ever fire a single shot except by Vulkan’s direct order, of course, but they were there for show anyway.

>>17088964
Dammit man! Some people are trying to sleep!

>>17088964
>We’re picking you up five-by.
That's a very odd phrase. The proper phrase is 5x5, which is a signalxclarity report.

Archived this shit

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/17087434/

If it aint a direct sequel of a second great crusade or what the EMPRAH does after getting his shit together with the remaining loyalist Primarchs
I AINT. FUCKING. INTERESTED.

“Warriors. Thank you for your escort. I will take it from here,” Vulkan said. Both men nodded, stepping back from the ramp with respectful salutes. They assumed parade-ground guard poses at the top of the ramp as the engines went silent, and the airframe shook as it settled down. The ramp slowly lowered with a faint hiss of hydraulics, revealing a small cluster of Water and Fire caste personnel beyond.
The effect of the Primarch’s sudden appearance was immediate and satisfying. The cluster of Fire Warriors immediately went for their railrifles, and the Water diplomats took at least two steps back a piece. Vulkan wasted no time, striding down the ramp slowly, as the two armsmen locked their person shields in place at the very top of the ramp, obstructing the view of the interior, not that anyone was looking at them.
“Representatives of T’au?” Vulkan asked, when he was a few paces from the bottom of the ramp.
One of the Water Caste diplomats retrieved their wits. “Yes…yes. I am Por’Ui Ses’teeg. Shas’O Fap’Tau has requested that we liase.”
“But not to make promises on his behalf?” Vulkan rumbled, putting a little venom in his voice, and fire in his eyes.
“Well…no,” the diplomat conceded. He shifted nervously, trying not to stare at the gigantic man with apprehension. “You mentioned a trade?”
“Trades are bidirectional, Ses. I will not negotiate with someone who can not authorize actions on their leader’s behalf.” Vulkan pulled his helmet off and glared at the fidgeting Water Caste speaker. “Go get Fap, or bring me to him. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“I can not allow an alien soldier to simply speak to our interim leader directly without learning more of him first,” the diplomat said gruffly.
Vulkan took a long step forward, towering over the small alien by nearly a meter. “I’ve got all the time in the world,” he repeated. “Do you?”

Keep on rock'in on dude, I've decided to finally start writing my stuff

Sorry for not saying so earlier, but this chapter is really great. Hope to read more of it later.

All right, back. I keep getting distracted by Stargate Atlantis reruns. How is it that both Amanda Tapping and Rachel Luttrell managed to get hotter as their shows wound on, even though they both had at least one marriage and childbirth each during the show?

>>17089571

Fantastic! I DEMAND MOAR!

Tales of the Emprahsque is probably my favourite 40k fanfic ever.

>>17089571

No idea, you're obviously a milf hunter. Keep on staring at those tits if it helps write this fantastic shit. I eagerly await the next installment.

0-094-001-M42
“How did you even talk me into this?” LIVII asked angrily. Taldeer elbowed him discreetly. “Just asking. Diplomacy isn’t my thing.”
“Nor mine, to be honest,” Taldeer said faintly. The eldritch glows of the teleporter-suppressant field reactivated around them, and a pair of completely uninterested-looking Custodes stepped forth, shooing off the techpriest operating the teleporter.
“Lady Isha, Farseer Taldeer, Assassin...and guest,” their leader said, pausing for a moment when he spotted Lofn hiding behind her mother’s leg. “You’re expected. The Emperor awaits your presence in the Hall of the Throne.”
“Very well,” Isha said, inclining her head slightly. “Lead the way.” The Custodian turned and walked out of the little tech-shrine, down the halls of the Palace. As they walked, Isha briefly tuned her mind to Taldeer’s. ‘ ‘Farseer, why is your daughter here? This is no place for a child,’’ she thought.
‘ ‘You’ll see, Lady Isha. She has a gift I couldn’t afford not to bring to the table,’’ Taldeer thought back. Further exchanged were prevented by the sudden arrival of another Custodian, this one in the layered leather and folded adamantine tunic of a Companion in formal, non-combat uniform. He had doffed his tasseled helmet, tucking it under one arm.
“Madams, sir. Your arrival is punctual. The Emperor and the available High Lords are awaiting you. Please, this way,” he said, gesturing at a gilded door set into one wall.
“I was told we would be meeting with the Emperor himself, “ Isha said, following the man into a small conference room.

>>17089686
Actually, it makes it slower. HOWEVER.

I am progressing. Highlord suggested before that I should include Lofn at the table. I decided to give it a shot. We'll see how it goes.

Very well than OP
if this is the continuation i apologize
Please proceed

derped, post got cut off.

“And so you shall, Lady Isha, but He decided that a full meeting of the High Lords in his presence would be impossible while so many are involved in the repairs of the Hives damaged in the uprising, and the restructuring of the Imperium He has directed,” the enormous Custodian said politely. He held the door open for the four of them, glaring raw hate at the Assassin as he passed. The Custodian stepped out, closing the door behind him.
Isha walked slowly to the head of the conference table and suppressed a smile. Before her sat sixteen of the angriest people she had ever seen.
They were modified, most of them; augmetics and bionics covered them from head to toe, at least a few. A few were mutants, or looked the role, and one was clearly a Navigator. Among the others, their uniforms were so encrusted with ornamentation and gildings that they looked to have been fused to the furniture.

One seat near the head of the table was empty, with a small iron Fleur-de-leis sitting on the seat cushion. A small hologram of the Imperial Eagle hovered in the center of the rectangular table. The Emperor, notably, was absent, save for another small hologram of the icon of the Throne. The hologram was echoing in the auditory and psychic tones of the Emperor; clearly it was more than just a projector.
“ISHA, SO GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT,” the icon said. “FARSEER TALDEER, LIVII. WELCOME BACK TO TERRA. YOU’VE BEEN BRIEFED?”
“Naturally,” Taldeer said. Isha took the seat at the head of the table, nearest the door, with Lofn at her left and LIVII at her right, with Taldeer sitting protectively between her daughter and the others. Lofn was looking more than a little apprehensive, but kept quiet. Clearly, she had no more idea why she was here than anyone else.
“LET ME BEGIN BY SAYING THAT I’M GLAD TO HEAR THAT YOU AND FARSEER ELDRAD ARE WELL ON THE ROAD TO RECOVERY,” the hologram roared. “AND THAT I’M SORRY THAT I CAN NOT JOIN YOU IN PERSON. THE RECONSTRUCTION OF AN ENTIRE CLUSTER OF HIVES IS SOMEWHAT TIME-CONSUMING. WHO MIGHT I ASK IS THE CHILD NEXT TO YOU?”
“It is my daughter, Emperor,” Taldeer spoke up. “You’ve met.”
“RIGHT, ON ULTHWÉ. WELL. YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE HERE, SO I’LL CUT TO THE QUICK. HUMANITY AND THE ELDAR HAVE HAD VERY, VERY SERIOUS GRIEVANCES WITH ONE ANOTHER, BUT THAT NEEDS TO END. NEITHER OF US HAS THE MANPOWER, OR DARE I SAY, FREE TIME, TO ENGAGE ONE ANOTHER IN OPEN WAR ANY LONGER.”
“Agreed,” Isha said calmly. She let the pause carry on a moment, then serenely gazed over at the cluster of angry High Lords and Ladies at the far end of the table. “Well, that was easy.”

AWWWWW and i was just getting back into it too. I had my word document up and everything. Oh well nite SE.

I, need sleep. Bump.I'll get to work on, my shit, later...

>>17090424
>implying im not going to save EVERY SINGLE WORD in all of these thread, for they are canon as far as im concerned. This has been AWESOME since the first thread and will continue to be so till it dies.

Bump.

>>17088733
>mfw no more Venus and Jake
Ah well, SE giveth and taketh away I guess. Please say you'll do some of the other Daughters at least?

All right, alive. Bumping to keep the thread afloat.

>>17094203

We need more, more I say!

“FUNNY. WE’RE HERE BECAUSE WE WANT TO ENSURE THAT ANY PEACE BETWEEN US IS SUPPORTED BY THE ENTIRETY OF BOTH GOVERNMENTS. A TREATY BETWEEN ULTHWÉ AND THE IMPERIUM IS WORTHLESS IF BIEL-TAN, ALAITOC, ET CETERA, DON’T WANT TO PLAY BALL. YOU, HOWEVER, BOW TO NO CRAFTWORLD. IF THERE ARE ANY SPEAKERS AMONGST THE ELDAR THAT CAN CARRY OUR MESSAGE TO ALL OF THEM AT ONCE, IT’S THEIR GODDESS AND THE DAUGHTER OF THEIR MOST FAMOUS FARSEER.”
Taldeer acknowledged the Emperor’s argument with a slight nod, considering its implications. She was fairly sure that Ulthwé would be willing to halt any future incursions against the Imperium given how frequently they sided together against Chaos, and Alaitoc was surrounded by Necron tombs and still reeling from the Imperium’s utterly botched invasion four hundred years prior, so they would welcome the time to recover. Saim-Hamm and Biel-Tan, however, however…
“I’M NOT EXPECTING AN ANSWER RIGHT NOW, OF COURSE,” the Emperor said, no doubt sensing their hesitation. “OBVIOUSLY YOU SHOULD CONSULT WITH YOUR SEERS FIRST. BUT THE IMPERIUM HAS FAR MORE PRESSING ENEMIES THAN THE ELDAR, AND YOU CAN HARDLY AFFORD TO WASTE FURTHER RESOURCES ATTACKING OUR COLONIES.”
“From what I understand, Eldar attacks on colonies of other races are usually motivated by more than simple land grabs, though, Emperor,” Isha said coolly. One of the High Lords stirred.
“Worlds that the Eldar have never claimed as part of their Empire, now or in the past, have been laid barren by Yme-Loc and Biel-Tan. What could motivate those craftworlds enough to butcher entire populations without warning or mercy, pray tell?” he asked bitterly.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Isha said honestly. The High Lord – they hadn’t introduced themselves, Taldeer noted – settled back in his seat, fuming.
“THEN LET ME CLARIFY: I’M NOT PROPOSING A MUTUAL NONAGGRESSION PACT. I’M PROPOSING A CEASEFIRE. THE WAKING OF THE NECRONS AND THE IMMINENT ARRIVAL OF WHO EVEN KNOWS HOW MANY MORE TYRANID HIVE FLEETS ARE A HUGE PROBLEM. FOR BOTH OF US. TWO CRAFTWORLDS HAVE BEEN ALMOST COMPLETELY DESTROYED BY TYRANIDS. I’M TOLD ALAITOC IS DECLARING WAR ON EVERY NECRON THEY ENCOUNTER. DO YOU REALLY THINK THE ELDAR CAN AFFORD TO SPEND PRECIOUS LIVES DEFENDING THEIR COLONIES FROM US WITH SO MUCH ELSE GOING ON?” The Emperor directed the question specifically at Taldeer.
She shrugged uncomfortably, a myriad of possible futures racing through her mind. “I can’t disagree unless I know more of what you propose.”
“A mandated cessation of hostilities and an oath to ignore each other’s colonies, exploration fleets, and other habitations zones,” one of the High Lords said. “The Eldar leave us alone, and we do the same. If that works and we both make some headway against our mutual enemies we couldn’t have made at war with the other, we extend the treaty even longer.” Isha looked over at the High Lord, as if noticing his presence for the first time.
“And what role do your enforcers play, Grand Provost?” she asked pointedly. He looked a bit disgruntled that she had known his name without prompting, but answered.
“I would be responsible for ensuring that Arbites deep-space anti-pirate forces leave your ships alone unless they keep raiding our convoys, in conjunction with our Navy. How did you know who I was?”

>>17090636
This.

Also:
>>encrusted with ornamentation and gildings that they looked to have been fused to the furniture.
Bonus points for Encrusted. Very evocative.

“You knew who you are,” Isha replied. The various High Lords shifted a bit, but none seemed willing to pick a fight with the Emperor watching.
“DO YOU FIND THESE TERMS APPROPRIATE, FARSEER?” the Emperor asked.
“I do. I must discuss them with the rest of the Council, as you said, however. That will not take long,” Taldeer said, standing. The High Lords remained seated.
“Do you need to send for a ship?” one asked.
“No, we have one in orbit,” Taldeer replied casually. The entire Senate grimaced in varying degrees of disgust and interest. They hadn’t detected it.
“THEN THE MEETING IS ADJOURNED,” the Emperor said decisively. “WE ALL HAVE THINGS TO DO.” The hologram of the Throne icon changed to a neutral blank circle as the connection cut.
“Why on Earth did you bring a little girl to a meeting of this importance?” one of the High Lords asked as the Eldar delegation walked out.
“Just in case,” LIVII said flippantly as the door slid shut.

9-094-001-M42
Shas’O Kes’y Fap’Tau was not a patient man, as anyone who had ever walked in on him practicing his favorite pastime could attest. When word came from his diplomatic team that the Astartes that had apparently been leading the expedition in secret the entire time had demanded his presence, he was incensed. “Those Imperials actually said they had all the time in the world?” Fap demanded, slamming his gargantuan fist down on his desk, denting the material and shaking something loose from the underside.
“Yes, sir,” his aide said, trying not to look at the floor. “We have few options here. The Cobra is not a powerful ship, but with the railgun off line and most of the ships keeping their distance, it would be able to inflict some damage before we destroyed it. However, we do have a few ships in orbit that could destroy it one-on-one.”
“If we have to. I’ll be honest,” Fap said, looking at the desk as it if had betrayed him personally, “I’m actually a little curious as to why they’re here at this point. Looks like that Space Marine was the ‘passenger’ the ship’s CO mentioned, at least.”
“He mentioned several passengers,” the aide reminded him. “There may be more Marines aboard.”
“I don’t know very much about Imperial command structure, but I’m all but certain Marines don’t command the Navy,” Fap said, standing up.
“They don’t. It may be a Marine ship, though, sir,” the aide supplied.
“Whatever. Where is the Marine now?”
“Still waiting at the landing site, quiet as you like. This shuttle has returned to the ship. He’s just standing there.”
“I’ll head out and meet him,” Fap decided. “Deception or no, this needs to stop.”

Soon enough, the hovercar the Fire Warrior commandeered had deposited him at the landing site, escorted by a team of Crisis Suits. Vulkan hadn’t moved an inch in the entire period between the Water Caste diplomat leaving and Fap’s arrival. The Promethian Way allowed such centering of balance, and he knew it would unnerve the flightier Tau.
As soon as Fap arroved, the Crisis Suits deployed to flank the Terminator, taking up symmetrical covering positions to allow Fap a clear line of retreat of Vulkan did something aggressive. He had no such inclination. Fap marched right up to the Salamander and started to speak.
“What is your business on our world, human?” he asked shortly.
“At the time we arrived, precisely nothing. Now? Escape,” Vulkan replied in the same tone. He noted with distant amusement that Fap was trying to look taller than he actually was. As if it made a difference when compared with the vast size of a Terminator-clad Primarch.
“Escape? From me, or my system?” Fap demanded.
“Hah! Ahh ha ha ha, ohhhh, that, that was good,” Vulkan said, laughing aloud. “Escape. From you. Yeah, that’s great. No, we just want to leave the system and go home. We collided with something on our Warp travels that ruined our Faster-Than-Light maneuvering ability. Once it’s fixed, we’re gone.”
“And you expect me to believe you?” Fap asked, angrily, poking a massive hand at the Terminator.
“Obviously,” Vulkan said, still chuckling. “What could I possibly gain from a lie?”

Fucking lol'd.

Quite a lot. Even as the Fire Warrior and the Fire-Born were debating, Forgefather Vulkan He’Stan was clinging for dear life to a tumbling ball of wreckage. “Wilcox, I’m away, armor holding, advise,” He’Stan managed, the undampened effects of gravity cutting his words short.

“You’ve cleared the hold and are on course, Lord. Emperor’s fortune be with you,” Wilcox said, cutting the direct-beam transmission. Below, He’Stan clung to the handles of his coffin, wondering just why he had agreed to this scheme. It had been Vulkan’s idea; since only he could find the location of the crypt and the ship’s sensors couldn’t detect it, he would provide He’Stan the coordinates of the entrance, and allow He’Stan to simply arrive there. Wilcox would eject a large amount of trash and debris in an arc towards the planet’s surface, disguised as nothing more than a normal purge of the ship’s garbage and biological waste. Inside the blobs of trash, however, would be a small metal box, proofed with heat-shielding taken from the damaged primary Warp drive, and a guidance system from a stripped dropship. The rig was completed with a pair of tiny maneuvering rockets and a larger ion pulse rocket from the same dropship, all of it covered in a combination of frozen grease and heat-absorbent foam, meant to burn off in the atmosphere. The vessel would kill any human that tried to ride it into re-entry…but He’Stan was not human.

>>17096543
What?

No takers? That's a shame.

Oh well.

The tiny vessel, which Ir’Shal had helpfully named the “Uninspired,” was nudged into the correct course and dropped by the Swift as it orbited the moon. Because the Tau would be expecting any objects ejected by the Swift to be ballistic, the timing had to be perfect; though the Uninspired had engines, overusing them would have lit up every high-orbit sensor around the moon. Fortunately, Ir’Shal had learned his trade well, and the launch was perfect. The Uninspired was tumbling along at the right angle to enter the atmosphere without exploding.
He’Stan had forgone the equipping of the other Artefacts here, as Vulkan had assured him that they were unnecessary: the defenses around the crypt were meant to keep out grave robbers and vagrants, not the greatest living Salamander warrior, who was supposed to find it eventually anyway. The only things he had brought with him were a normal Mark Six Godwyn bolter and a satchel of drum magazines, along with a chainsword and a small bag of upgrade parts for the bolter, which Vulkan had insisted He’Stan bring even if he never saw fit to use them. ‘For surprises,’ Vulkan had said.
Along with those things, a single piece of electronic hardware from the ship’s simple armory was tucked in a padded case at He’Stan’s waist: a man-portable vox-caster. Though vastly simpler and cheaper than the vox built into the Salamander’s helmet, its range was significantly greater, and could be powered by the generator at He’Stan’s back, along with a bag of copper disks.

I have a few ideas for our most glorious orange Daemon/God ruler of the Imperium. (additions to the 'things to do' list.)

1) The Loyalist Fulgrim is still sitting inside a painting, watching his old body being used for perversions by its new occupant. i think the painting should be recovered, and a new body obtained for it (every Primarch helps, and i think that would be awesome)

2) Trazyn the Infinite (trollzyn) still has someone stuffed and on display on the front porch. we need to rescue whoever it is.

keep on Writefaging (is that a word?)

The pseudo-assault pod dropped vertiginously through the atmosphere of the planet, spinning wildly. The temperature inside would have been unbearable for anyone but a Salamander, but He’Stan had weathered worse. A faint whistling noise of atmospheric passage sounded from every corner of the pod as the heat-shielding reacted to the atmosphere, and the coating of junk on the outside burst into flame. He’Stan kept his eyes glued to the countdown timer on the HUD. Five minutes until stratopassage, then the re-entry rockets could fire without triggering the sensors. A true assault pod would have been much better, of course, but if they had used one, the Tau would have assumed it was a prelude to an all-out war.
He’Stan gripped the metal handles on the inside of his impromptu ship as hard as he dared without breaking them, and prayed that it would not become his coffin. Three minutes to stratopassage.
A small number of Tau on the planet below lived near the spot where He’Stan was supposed to land. If they had looked up to the sky, they would have seen nothing yet. The pod was so small that it barely left a trail, and it wasn’t coasting for a smooth landing like a ship or a fixed-wing aircraft. The pod slammed into the stratosphere seconds before He’Stan fired off the primary engine, and the pod slowed massively, nearly crushing He’Stan against his armor. The venerable Salamander checked the guidance system, dazed. He was still on course. The secondary rockets fired, righting the pod, as the craft slowed yet further.

>>17097873
Explaining them is easy: they just woke up. Thanks to timey-wimey shenanigans, though, they had always been awake. This is why one of Trollzyn's prized possessions is a blue police box.

The pod lit up, all three engines flaring up, swerving the pod towards the crypt entrance. The guidance system suddenly switched from passive guidance to active, and He’Stan released his death grip on the handles, grabbing the control stick. The stick jerked and bucked, but He’Stan’s power-armoured hands stayed steady, guiding the pod through the low-lying clouds over the crypt entrance. From above, it looked like nothing more than a long-dried tidal trough, but He’Stan knew it to be much more.
The pod dropped to a mere few hundred meters, its bottom aflame. The ship continued to decelerate, plummeting towards the ground, until it finally collided. The impact speed was enough to instantly mulch a human. Again, He’Stan wasn’t troubled.
The Salamander kicked the door of the pod off once the bolts had fired, launching the metal plate away from the smoking metal block. He ran out, pausing only long enough to trigger the pod’s self-destruct meltabomb. The blinding light behind him erased the pod completely, deepening the crater the pod had made and filling the bottom with molten metal.
He’Stan ran up to the well-concealed cave that doubled as the crypt’s entrance. Pausing only to sweep the cave mouth with his sensors to look for anything out of the ordinary, he pushed ahead, readying his bolter.

0-094-001-M42
Lofn sat in the leather chair at the conference table, taking in everything being said around her. The collection of shiny people at the other end of the table hadn’t spared her a glance once they had returned from the ship. The other Eldar had been angry that Isha had promised anything at all, but Lofn understood why: they didn’t trust humans. The last thing they needed, they said, was more obligation. She didn’t know what they meant.
In fact, she didn’t even know why she was there. She had wanted the Imperium and the Eldar to stop fighting, of course, but why didn’t anyone else? One of the people at the head of the table who wasn;t shiny at all was saying something.
“Lady Isha, do you have any idea what that would do to our forces in the field? Not knowing whether or not a Webway gate might open right next to them and spit out some aliens that may well decide that they have more right to be there than the forces themselves? That sort of morale distraction could be fatal.”
“In stark contrast to knowing that we can do that already and as it stands, are almost CERTAINLY enemies? I fail to see how that’s better,” Taldeer shot back on Isha’s behalf.
“I don’t recall inviting your input, Farseer,” the man said coldly.
“Listen anyway,” Lofn suddenly said. She was done being quiet.
Instantly, every single set of eyes in the room aimed straight at her. She tried not to show how scared she was by that.
“Something to add, miss?” an empty man the end of the table said into the frigid quiet. It was the first thing he’d said all day.
“Yeah. You should stop hating other people’s ideas because they thought of them first,” Lofn said unhappily. A very small smile quirked Mom’s lips.

“I didn’t say anything about her idea,” the empty man said softly.
“YOU didn’t.” Lofn was getting a little mad now. “But I don’t think you needed to, you know?”
The man very slowly stood up. Dad’s hand was at the empty holster at his side so fast even Lofn couldn’t see it move, but the man was already sitting down, smiling at Dad. “Do continue, Lady Isha.”
The Goddess looked down at Lofn and smiled at her for a moment before picking up where she had been before the shiny man interrupted. “As I was saying, neither of us are willing, nor allowed, really, to commit our forces to future engagements together. I don’t think that should change, publicly.”
The shiny people and the Eldar group kept talking for a while after that, and the hologram talked too.
But the empty man never stopped staring at Lofn. And he didn’t look angry any more.

>>17098943
why haven't we herd from the giddy femaleness psyker head honcho he/she has the wisdom of all the psykers he ate to live but is supposedly silly
PS.still here and loving it!

>>17099186
Pardon?

>>17099186
What's the hell wrong you grammar?

>>17099912

Really enjoying it. LOVING the little jokes you throw in with Shas O'Fap. I would kill to see more of it, that's me make love your writing. Not saying to overdo it, or expect a High Lord to catch a pie in the face during peace negotiations but the small things really brings out the love.

>>17099912
It's pretty hard for me to read it with a straight face with seeing the word "Fap" come up all the time. This isn't a bad thing. I'm cracking up almost every single joke that comes around in this. All in all, spelling and grammar quality is the same as it has been so far. Also: Bump.

Now back to writing my stuff. I would also like to know what you think of my writefaggotry Someone else. if you've gotten the chance to read it yet. Because, well, I only went back to revising it because of your criticisms. I would like to know if it's decent now. That is all. I didn't get very many criticisms about it during my thread a few weeks back. The only thing I got from the thread was, "Woman can't be a threatening antagonist!"

One more bump should do it and holy shit it's like, 5:AM here.

To bed, well, after I finish this paragraph...

Bump.

>>17097218
I realize i'm kinda late... but i collect maps... so here's the best goddamn creepy map I can find.

>>17103042
Well remember that Lofn has her mother's mind-reading capabilities, as well as her innate and unprecedented abilities of her own. She's describing the character of the emotions of the people she meets. The shiny people are all stuffed-up politicians, the unshiny people are consummate bureaucrats, the empty people are sociopaths. The 'empty man' in questions is a psyker, specifically the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, LIVII's former boss, and a remorseless sociopath.

4-094-001-M42
Bjorn the Fell-Handed was nervous. Interred in his Dreadnought shell, he was all but impervious to simple battle damage, and secure in the knowledge that he had fought for over ten millennia in his Emperor’s service, he knew neither doubt nor terror.
But he was nervous.
“Bjorn, old friend, enough. You’re going to wear out your joints,” Great Wolf Logan Grimnir said, staring pointedly at the fidgeting Dreadnought.
“Yeah, well, what do you expect? I have no idea what Lord Russ is going to do when he gets here, after what I said,” the Venerable Dreadnought said nervously, waving his stubby little arms.
“You meant every word, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, I did.” Bjorn finally settled down and faced forward as the huge gates of the Hall opened. The Space Wolves within were abuzz with activity; many had just returned from Cadia and were catching up, but many others had only just heard the news of the Emperor’s return, isolated as Fenris was.
When they caught sight of the Chapter’s two greatest living heroes, though, the room grew quiet, with most snapping to a salute or some approximation of it, as injury and inebriation permitted.

*Zap*
OHGOD, MY CHEST!

“Hail, Great Wolf Grimnir! Hail, Venerable Bjorn! Returned from Cadia!” one of the nearer Wolves called out, and the room echoed with their approval.
Grimnir saluted the group, leaning towards Bjorn’s aural sensors. “You can’t tell me you didn’t miss this reception.”
“A little, maybe,” Bjorn said dismissively.
“A little. Right. Well, when Lord Russ arrives, we’ll see what he thinks,” Grimnir said, walking down to the nearest table and dropping down on the steel bench wearily.
“Do we even know when that’s going to happen?” Bjorn said, following him over and looking longingly at the food on the scratched wooden surface.
“Nope. We’ll find out when he gets here,” Grimnir said, digging into a steaming rack of beef.
“I can hardly wait,” Bjorn grumbled, plodding off to the armory.

...suddenly I empathize with Bjorn.
No more getting gloriously glutted on roast beast.
No more towering tankards of Wulfsmead to make that walk back to his rack more entertaining.
Arroo, indeed.

>>17109661

The space wolves were more space vikings when Russ was around, so why would the booze and red meat go away? If anything, Bjorn would see more action with Russ back.

No, methinks he's nervous about how Russ will react when he sees that his entire chapter turned into space puppies.

>>17109869
Bjorn is in a Dreadnought. He can't eat or drink. And being in the feasting hall only reminds him of that.

>>17109928

Sorry then.

I've gotta be going. I hope this thread is sill here tomorrow, or at least archived and/or linked on the 1d4chan page. This stuff is awesome.

I don't have much in the way of criticism, simply because I am not that much of wordsmith to begin with.

Best of luck.

9-095-001-M42
“It wouldn’t be fair of me to assume that you HAD to be here for conquest alone,” Fap said, crossing his arms with some difficulty. “Certainly with one tiny ship. And yet, Astartes are Space Marines, not Space Diplomats. So why were you on that ship?”
“Why I was there is tangential to the topic at hand,” Vulkan said patiently, watching Fap with the practiced ease of a veteran. Fap had none of the optimistic naiveté that Dante had said colored the Tau’s every move. He was acting like a cynic. “Besides, what difference would it make? I’m stuck here now.”
“And yet, once more, you are a warrior. On a ship that normally would not travel alone or have Astartes aboard if it did. So why were you there if not to fight?” Fap pressed.
“You will not get an answer from me that you trust. Why ask?” Vulkan said, suddenly on the offensive. “Now I have a question for you. How long have the Tau been on this world?”
“Long enough to construct a surface-to-space siegebreaker rail-cannon, which will reduce your ship to powder should it attempt to fire on the surface,” Fap said, smirking behind his helmet.
“And yet, having been here for over a day, we have not fired a single shot at the surface or your ships,” Vulkan pointed out, digesting the words and considering their implication. “Your argument makes no sense.”
“You spoke of a tomb before,” Fap said suddenly, changing his tone in an attempt to throw Vulkan off-balance.
“Yes. There is an alien crypt here on the surface that I visited once, very long ago,” Vulkan said, undeterred.
“You expect me to believe that?” Fap said derisively. “This moon was completely uninhabited when we got here.”
“As it was when I visited the tomb,” Vulkan said.

“Then why were you here?” Fap demanded. The Water and Fire caste personnel around him all suddenly reacted to something, something Fap apparently didn’t notice. Vulkan leaned back on one heel and planted his hands on his armored hips.
“Something to share, Fap?”
Fap glared behind his expressionless mask. He didn’t want to admit it, but acting without the direct oversight of an Etherial in a matter of such importance was, while permissible, discouraged. An Aun from Sekka was on her way, but until she arrived, he was on his own. And the Space Marine was getting to him. Acting as if he had absolute and complete control of the entire discussion. Why? What did the human know?
“Shas’O,” one of the Fire Warriors said faintly, tapping Fap on the shoulder and gesturing at his helmet. Fap silently switched his radio back on with a blink.
“Shas’O Fap, please come in. Shas’O, please respond immediately,” a voice on the other side said urgently.
“What the hell do you want?” Fap demanded. “I’m speaking to the prisoner!”
“Sir, the rail cannon is armed and ready to fire. The ship in orbit will be in range in thirty-seven minutes,” the voice on the other side said.
Fap nodded, turning his gaze to the ground and smiling. “Good. Good. Lock on as soon as it comes in range and let me know when you do. Fap out.” Fap cut the link and glanced up with a smirk.

The smirk vanished. Vulkan was only a handspan away, having moved in total silence, and with such speed that not one of the guards had raised their weapons in time. Fap tensed, his hand dropping to his knife.
“ ‘Prisoner?’” Vulkan hissed, his voice so low and angry that Fap took a step backwards from the sheer force of it. “I was a ‘prisoner’ for ten thousand years, alien. I am a ‘prisoner’ no longer. I am the scion of the Emperor’s will, and the living force of the Salamanders. I am no man’s ‘prisoner.’”
Vulkan’s rage was very, very real. Fap felt his blood run cold. The human’s eyes were solid red, he noted in fear. They were so bright that they were actually emitting heat and light, enough to actually return on his helmet sensors.
“How did you even hear me?” Fap asked uncertainly.
Vulkan’s eyes flashed horribly. “I hear much. And know this: if your railgun fires on my ship, even in show, I will reduce you to blue-colored fertilizer before you can so much as breathe – I SWEAR it.”
Fap stared at the massive warrior, noting for the first time the darkened metal around the tiny hole on the back of the left gauntlet: a flamer. A very small one, but a flamer nonetheless.
“Now…I believe we were discussing what happens here next,” Vulkan said, his homicidal impulse fading. He straightened up as much as his suit would let him, the Mantle billowing in the rising breeze.

>>17110508
FUCK YEAH VULCAN.
Holy shit he's intense.
Well done!

>>17110508
Vulcan wrecking shit, the wreckoning.

comingsoon.

“Yes we were,” Fap said, suddenly feeling a lot shorter.
His radio blared again. Fap hastily turned the volume down with another flick of the eyes, and acknowledged the hail, this time in his own language. “What is it?”
“Sir, the Imperial vessel is powering its active sensors on and off in bursts. We have no record of Imperial vessels behaving this way, sir, not with active sensors. Their regional comm system is also pulsing, sir, but there are no other ships in range.”
“And the human’s not wearing a helmet,” Fap said softly. Vulkan tilted his head and smirked cruelly.
“Something WRONG, Fap?”
“Not at all. Why is your ship pinging the moon with its active sensors?” Fap asked, in Gothic.
“Don’t rightly know,” Vulkan said, grinning, his eyes flaring again. “Surely it’s not causing you problems? With all that…fancy wargear?”
“Your ship is still here, Human, only because I allow it,” Fap said, but the moment he said it, his throat tightened in regret.
“You have thrown nothing but vitriol and suspicion at us since we arrived, Fap, which I understand completely,” Vulkan said, tilting his head back. “You have no idea what to do with us, do you?”

Fap stared at the Astartes in silence for a long moment, then spoke…very carefully. “You landed here to talk. You wanted to trade. You speak of tombs and navigating Warp Streams. Enough posturing. I want honesty. Why here? If you were just deposited here by the Warp Stream and your intention was to leave as soon as possible, you would have turned your ship around and burned vacuum for Imperial space waiting for rescue in the void. So enough threatening. Why…are…you…here?”
Vulkan stared at the expressionless white mask before him, then slowly donned his helmet. “I spoke the truth. I set foot on this world ten thousand years ago. I explored an ancient alien crypt. I left. I knew it would still be here. I do not know exactly where it is now, with all your construction-”
“There is no way that can be true,” Fap said, gesturing at Vulkan. “No human lives that long.”
Vulkan sealed his helmet back in place, noting the complex display of data from the orbital link. “I am Fire-Born.”
Fap sighed tensely. Why was there never an Ethereal around when you REALLY needed one?

i rage and disappointment i felt when that oddish got posted surprised me. that is how much i love your work.

>>17111794
i thought it was just cuz hes from a fire planet and stuff.

>>17111850
Surely it is related to him.
But the gesture of putting on his helmet mid-conversation and letting out that one-liner is so very comic-like I thought it could be referring to something.

>>17111863
probably just SE being dramatic about it. i mean it was a really really cool line and Vulkan did just rage into faps face.

>>17111908
>>17111908

It's noko, fuckwad.

>>17111934
No need to get so rude.
It's been a while since I used it.

i havnt posted anything since the last emperasque thread and i normally never say anything. it took me a while to just remember the syllables for noko

>>17111897
In their tongue, he is Vulkan...Fire-Born!

>inb4 fus ro dah

>>17114913
er, no indiana salamanda, but... micro-map dump to keep this thread alive?

He’Stan ducked the thin rock beam that crossed the narrow hallway in the crypt, standing up and bracing his arms against the walls, lifting his armored boots as the second beam swept under him. As soon as it cleared, he dropped down and sprinted for the end of the narrow corridor, as the rods continued to cycle behind him, oblivious. He’Stan paused at the end of the tunnel, looking back at where the rock rods were, noting how they were moving. The rods were in a loop, like a conveyor set in the walls; not so far apart that they could be bypassed, but fast enough that you had to wait for one to move before you could clear the other. They hadn’t stopped him, though; he had fought his way through an entire Webway city to rescue Elysius and his Sigil, no cheap movie prop would stop him.
The hallway branched into a T-junction, though the left branch had collapsed. The right twisted deeper into the hillside, and the hall broadened out, with clear seams between each block of alien stone. He’Stan closed his eyes and thought for a moment, willing the memories forth. This looked all too familiar…
After a moment, it clicked. The design was familiar because it was a Slann Magehold crypt, left behind as the original builders of the Webway decayed into complete indolence and sloth. He had fought through them as part of the Titan Recovery force of General Sylth’s First Brigade, back as a mere Brother-Lieutenant of the Forth Company. The tombs were scattered across the entire Segmentum Tempestus, most of them almost as old as the Eldar.

He’Stan grinned tightly at the hallway. The Slann may have been a pitiful, decayed form of their glorious progenitors, the Old Ones, who had crafted the Webway and who knew what else, but they weren’t completely without knowledge. The hallway was probably laced with traps, not to keep men out, but to trap them in.
He’Stan tapped his helmet. “Swift, He’Stan. Pulse, active, record, close.”
“He’Stan, Swift, pulse.” Wilcox cut the comm feed and nodded to the sensor officer, who burst the sensors at full strength at He’Stan’s location, recorded the data, and just as fast sent it down to He’Stan, using as little time as possible. You could never know who was listening in.
He’Stan watched the data pipe down to his helmet with interest. There was an active power source on his levle and an inactive power source one level down. The nearer source was linked to a small machine behind one of the walls of the crypt. The machine was set behind the wall, on the south side of the room. The Forgefather gauged the floor, and didn’t spot any obvious pressure plates. He carefully stepped down the very center of the passageway, where the most wear from passing feet had wiped the floor clean, millions of years ago. To his relief, whatever mechanism the power source controlled did not activate, and he reached the end of the hallway unimpeded.

The hallway ended with a precipitous drop, going at least fifteen feet down, with no means of climbing back up. He’Stan jumped the distance, landing heavily on the weathered stone. The rumble of his landing echoed away in the underground corridors, leaving nothing but silence. He’Stan strained his augmented ears, but if the landing had damaged the integrity of the tomb, he couldn’t hear it.
He took a few more cautious steps forward, then paused, looking at the ground. The wear on the ground was continuous. There was no interrupt in the pattern at the base of the drop. How had the builders of the tomb reached the top of the gap?
For that matter, why was there wear and tear at all? The Slann worshipped death; they wouldn’t have taken the offense of violating the tomb with cross-traffic lightly. So why was the floor worn down? He’Stan pondered the mystery before putting it temporarily out of his mind. He would have to come back this way with his prize; he would solve it then.
The lower section of tunnel was smooth-walled, with a thin metal strip, like a track for lights, running along the ceiling, from which ancient, corroded metal hooks, no larger than a bolt cartridge, hung, their purpose inscrutable. The short segment of tunnel dead-ended at a wall, with the marking of the Slann defaced and scoured, as if by a powerfully intense heat. He’Stan ran his armored hand over the burn, noting its remarkably clean cut. The Spear had done this, he was certain. This, then, had to have been one of the very first Artefacts to have been hidden, if others had been used in its placement.

He’Stan pressed against the door, trying to ascertain its resistance. He could just knock it down if he had to, of course, but if it was thick enough he would have to use his bolter, and he didn’t want to risk a cave-in. The door was split across the length, with very faint grooves on the sides that indicated that the two halves were supposed to rise into the ceiling and retract into the floor. The mechanism to open it had been gouged out with the Spear. In its place was a hole, with a few runes of the Nocturnean earth-shaman language carved in. Silently, He’Stan blessed his decision to heed Tu’Shan and Velcona’s advice regarding learning its script before departing on his quest for the Song of Entropy.
The runes were carved into the molten rock left behind by the Spear. He’Stan turned his helmet illuminators on and read them. “Carving, Mechanism, Overcome, Flood.” The Forgefather tapped his finger on the runes in thought. “Well, one way to find out.” He thrusted both hands into the gap left behind by the Spear, and forced the rock apart, placing all his strength behind them. With a muted rumble of rock grinding against rock, the door groaned open, parting before the venerable Salamander’s strength. The rock slid into the ground and ceiling and locked in place, as they caught on the latch Vulkan had left intact, ten thousand years prior.
He’Stan walked in, wringing his hands. There was a large, black block on a pedestal in the center of the room, with another set of Nocturnean runes carved on its top. He’Stan stared at them, translating them aloud. “Carving, Mechanism, Overcome, Flood. Again. What is the meaning of this…”

4-096-001-M42
“Well, my brothers, I have to ask,” Leman Russ asked casually, “did you miss me?”
The sound of seven thousand Space Wolves roaring their approval met his question, as Russ pumped his fist over his head, grinning ear to ear. Grimnir and Deathwolf, along with the eight other Wolf Lords present, knelt at the bottom of the steps leading up to the gate of the Great Hall. “Welcome home, Lord Russ, Wolf Father,” Grimnir said loudly, before lowering his voice considerably. “Like what we’ve done with the place?”
“Not so much,” Russ said sotto voce, eliciting a few nervous glances from the other Wolf Lords. Russ raised his voice again. “Brothers, I do indeed look forward to greeting you all, but as it is I’ve been fighting and travelling for weeks, and am in need of quartering. Where shall I reside?”
A pair of serfs nearly jumped to their feet, stumbling over to where Russ was standing, kitbag on his shoulder. “Honored Wolf Father, this way, please, Lord Grimnir has set aside a guest suite until yours can be unsealed,” one said, nearly in tears of joy from the honor.
“Thank you, lad,” Russ said, before turning to Grimnir. “ ‘Unsealed?’”
“Well, you never did specify when the Wolftime would be,” Grimnir said awkwardly, “so we put a stasis projector in there to seal it off until you came back. It’s just sort of…complicated to disarm.”
“Right.” Russ struggled to find words, then gave up. He turned back to the waiting serfs. “Show the way then, lads.”

>>17116616
*grinning*
INdeed!

Wolfing wolves!

He’stan had it. The symbols on the cube and the symbols on the gate had been the same words, and in the same order, but the cube had been facing away from the gate when he crossed it. With careful deliberation, he rotated the cube to face the open gate, aligning the metal block precisely. He placed his hands on either side of the block and waited.
Very gradually, the block peeled open, seams appearing the featureless metal. The side fell off, pulling the lid down, as the alien material sloughed away. Inside was a mess of interlocked metal tubes, armor plates, and a bewildering array of sheathed hoses and electronics. He’Stan looked at the mass of equipment in bewilderment. The box that had contained the Song of Entropy had looked nothing like that.
Suddenly, the entire room sank. He’Stan adjusted for balance, his hands clutching the adamantine wargear as it shook. He looked up at the gate in alarm: the room had sunk nearly a foot, with the threshold of the gate now jutting into the air. He’Stan didn’t wait for the other metaphorical foot.

The Forgefather scooped up the Unbound Flame and sprinted for the exit, easily hurdling the gate. The floor seemed stable for now, but that wouldn’t last. Nobody rigged devices to destroy their own crypts unless they were meant to be used only once. He’Stan charged down the short, smooth tunnel, slamming his ceremite boots into the blank, fifteen-foot wall at the end, with all the force he could muster. The impact carved a crater in the wall that he sank his foot into, nearly two feet off the ground. He rammed his hand into the crumbling stone, punching another foothold, levering himself up, distantly wondering how in the world Vulkan had done it.
Suddenly, the stone block shook violently. Forewarned, He’Stan dislodged himself from the wall, throwing himself backwards as the entire room rose, sliding back into place. Feeling distantly foolish, He’Stan took the opportunity, running back to the T-junction.
As he passed the rough, jutting blocks of stone, however, a problem arose. The blocks began shooting forward from the walls as if propelled, slamming into the opposite walls and each other like bullets. Jets of seawater propelled them forward, flooding the entire corridor in moments. He’Stan tumbled to his feet, the water buffeting him around like flotsam.
As abruptly as it started, the water jets ceased. Cunning mechanisms behind the loose stone walls revealed themselves, the complexity and sinister nature of their device betrayed by their appearance. This was no mere crypt.

The torrent of water poured down the halls, filling each chamber they passed until they reached the ends. The mechanisms weren’t done, however. A second set of nozzles, concealed by the first, suddenly started spraying their own payload, coating the surface of the knee-deep water with slick, oily promethium. With an inaudible click, a hidden spark ignited the promethium, sending a wall of flame down the hallway, engulfing He’Stan completely.
He was not greatly concerned. Salamanders master fire as a nature of their being. No oil fire was going to stop him. He waded through the burning oil, feeling the heat on his armor and ignoring it completely. The Unbound Flame, whatever it was, he held over his head, protecting it from the fires.
At the end of the T-junction, he spotted the spinning rock rods, still turning above the flames. Only now, they were turning faster, spinning around on their conveyors behind the walls like the treads on a tire. He’stan charged through them as fast as he could. The thin stone rods splintered on his armor, but he wrapped his arms around his precious cargo and bulled on through, shattering them.
He’Stan cannoned down the last stretch of hallway, noting that the water and fire were only still present because another stone block had risen up at the end of the hall, cutting off the water’s flow. Rising several feet up from the ground, the burning water licked at the sides of the sandstone block, caking it black.

i snap shits going down

He’Stan vaulted the stone block, slowing his pace as he escaped the flames. The last, flickering bits of oil on his armor burned themselves out as he walked back through the cave, already paging the Swift. “Swift, He’Stan, package retrieved, pickup, acquire.”
“He’Stan, Swift, negative on pickup, contacts blue, assume hostile, close on you,” Wilcox said urgently. He’Stan’s head snapped up, noting with urgency that no fewer than fifteen contacts had appeared at the edge of his helm’s expanded sensor suite. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and snapped into the radio.
“Swift, override restrict, lift, lift, lift.”
“Confirm lift.”
“Lift.” As soon as the word left his lips, the world ended. All around him, unthinkable horrors swirled and laughed and screamed, pain like nothing he had ever felt ripped through him. After a heartbeat, it ended, and the familiar interior of the Swift’s hangar greeted him. He’Stan fell to his knees, cradling his prize in his hands, as the ship’s teleportorium powered down.
“Brother!” Ir’Shal said in surprise, having walked past him on the way back to the engine room. “What are you doing here?”
“Celebrating a triumph, brother,” He’Stan said weakly. “An Artefact is ours.”

>>17117674
I've been kept busy with whistling the Indiana Jones theme, never fear. =D

Someone archive this yet?

“Would you care to tell me why a piece of my coastline just burst into flames and collapsed, Marine?” Fap demanded, having listened to the scout team’s reports over his helmet feed.
“No. What I will say, however, is that I have quite enough of you. I am leaving.” Vulkan took a few steps back from where Fap was still standing, and tilted his head back to look at the blank, green sky.
“You are going NOWHERE,” Fap said, his courage increasing proportionally with his distance from the enormous Terminator.
“Far to the contrary.” Vulkan looked back down and spread his arms wide. “Know this, Tau: this was the last chance any of you will ever have received for the Emperor’s service,” he said, his voice amplified to fill the entire landing pad, where the various diplomats had been standing, some in pain from having held still for so long. Without another word, he pointed the Gauntlet at the ground and triggered it, bathing his feet in white-hot fire.
Fap leaped forward, jumping over the fire and wrapping his gargantuan arm around Vulkan’s waist, just as the teleport himer in Vulkan’s suit triggered, and Vulkan was sucked back up to the ship.
A few meters away, Ir’Shal and He’Stan reacted instantly, raising their bolt pistols and leveling them at their erstwhile guest. Vulkan shook Fap off of him, staring down at the trembling alien in amusement. “It’s not often my enemies take themselves prisoner to save me the trouble.” He glanced up at Ir’Shal with a cruel smirk behind his gold helmet. “I brought you a present.”

So this thread finished then?

>>17117975
And the thread generally will keep on running until Someone Else has his oddish baked, and then some Anons will desperately try to keep it alive for a day or three, before it either hits the bump limit or Someone Else comes back to us, once more inspired.

“It was just sitting in the cube, Lord,” He’Stan said, sitting at the table in his quarters with Vulkan, staring at the Unbound Flame. The assemblage of tubes and plugs had been meticulously cleaned by the two men once both had shed their armor.
“I left it there. I trust the Slann traps didn’t give you too much trouble?” Vulkan asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Piece of cake. What got me were the Tau scouts. How did they react to us so quickly?”
“They must have better orbital sensors than we thought,” Vulkan said. “They must have detected the Uninspired after all.”
He’Stan nodded in silence. “And how do you propose that we deal with our new captive? It could take centuries to travel back to Imperial space in the absence of the Navigator. Tau do not live that long.” He’Stan’s casual question belied his host of questions about the other problems that being out of contact with Terra for so long would create, not the least of which was the death of every non-Astartes on board.
“It will not take that long,” Vulkan said with confidence. “Recall that I have visited this system before. I can tell the helmsman what course to set even in the absence of the Navigator. His presence is not needed to maintain the Gellar field.”

>>17118810
MOAR GODS DAMN YOU MOAR!!!!!!! This is amazing as always. Im still reeling as to just what the fuck possessed Fap'Tau to leap after a fire spewing giant, but hey its all in good fun.

i find the rash attitude of fap to be funny yet strage considering that the tau are suppose to be level headed and dont rush into things. im hoping for some full on open battles between the imperium and the tau in this little meet up that they are in now.

>>17118810

I have no real criticism; the grammar and storytelling is up to snuff at glance. I do have a nitpick, although it may already be addressed in the paragraph you're writing; My understanding of the warp states that warp currents change over time. Thus, the coordinates that worked thousands of years ago may not work now.

>>17118828

He was positively JUMPING at the chance to serve the great Emperasque!

Oh god, I need to stop. I wonder what kind of effect an unexpected teleport would have on an armored tau. They don't have very large warp presences, but at the same time he was probably in upgraded fire warrior armor, hardly the ceramite of space marine armor.

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Lieutenant Commander Wilcox, who knocked on the door of He’Stan’s quarters. “Sirs, if I may?” he asked.
“Speak,” Vulkan said beckoning Wilcox forward.
“The Tau frigate is on our tail, sir, chasing after us as fast as it can. Without FTL, we will be unable to evade them forever…however, sir, Lord Ir’Shal had an idea.” Wilcox made the gesture of the Aquilla and sat in the chair Vulkan indicated. “The Warp Drive is reparable, sir, and he is almost finished with it, as you know, but he thinks we may be able to use it to escape the Tau.”
“How?” Vulkan asked.
“Sir, he says that if we shut down everything but life support, sensors, and the sublight drives, and divert the power of the deactivated systems to the active cooling systems for the main sublight engine, we may be able to accelerate past our normal maximum speed by as much as 18%. That would put our velocity as significantly higher than the Tau ship, sir, faster than even a Falchion radier.”
Vulkan nodded. “Then why have we not done so?”
Wilcox nodded respectfully. “Because both you and Lord Tu’Shan would have to approve, as well as me. He has my authorization, of course, my Lord, but…well, there is also the matter that decelerating once we escape the star’s pull to the speed we need to enter the Warp and escape would also take longer. The Tau may catch us on our way out.”
“Then maneuver down from the plane of the solar ecliptic,” Vulkan said, thinking it over. “We will escape the combined gravitational pull of the system’s gas giants and star faster that way. The Tau will be closer to us when we escape, but we can Warp out faster.”

“As you will, my Lord Vulkan,” Wilcox said. “I will pass along your approval and suggestion. As for the prisoner…he is demanding to be released to the Tau pursuing us.”
“Of course he is, but he is the only thing keeping them from firing on us,” Vulkan said dismissively. “Feed him and ignore everything he says.”
“Aye, sir. Ah…sir,” Wilcox said carefully. “The Tau doesn’t seem to know your name?”
“Indeed, I never told him,” Vulkan said. “He didn’t seem interested,” he added with a smirk.
“Very well.” Wilcox stood. “Then I shall leave you, my Lord, unless you have a message for Lord Tu’Shan?”
“Thank him for accepting a side-lined position during this mess,” Vulkan said.
“Yes, my Lord,” Wilcox said, genuflecting and closing the door.
He’Stan had never stopped staring at the Unbound Flame. “Brother…you said this was some kind of upgrade kit?”
“Yes, brother, it is. The plugs here, here, and here,” he said, gesturing at the kit, “fit into the power generator of a Terminator Suit. The brace here folds around the wrist mount for the Song of Entropy, while this fits around the Gauntlet…here.” Vulkan slowly unfolded the mess of adamantine equipment, slotting components together. “Finally, the piping here actually…replaces the secondary fuel line for the Gauntlet.”
“So…when assembled, what does it do?” He’Stan asked, staring at the contraption.
“When attached to a Terminator armor suit with all the other Artefacts installed, it dramatically enhances the heat output of all thermal weapons, and doubles the range of the Song of Entropy.” Vulkan said back, looking at his handiwork. “You know, if you recovered the Artefacts in order, this would have been the last.” He looked up at He’Stan and smiled. “Glad we could save the time.”

i love how chill Vulkan is

0-097-001-M42
LIVII sat in the chair outside the suite the Eldar delegation were using. He hadn’t bothered bringing any sort of weapons with him to Terra; he had known the Custodes would have just taken them anyway. He had chosen to wear an Imperial formal uniform in the meeting, before, but now he was in his old Assassinorum uniform, complete with death’s head mask. He was expected, by his old master, no less, and it wouldn’t do to look unprepared.
Without a sound, he stood, facing down the corridor. His master was coming. He could FEEL it. The man’s aura preceded him, more literally than LIVII had realized when they had first met. He had known that the man was a horrifyingly dangerous killer, to be sure, but he was also a psyker, something he had only found out from Isha.
The Grand master of Assassins glided down the corridor, resplendent in his black-and-red robe. He halted a few meters from LIVII, staring him in the eye. “Vindicare. Your return was unanticipated. Why are you here?”
“To complete my mission, Master,” LIVII said. The Master cocked his head, with an air of strained politeness.
“Your mission, L I V I I, was to kill Farseer Taldeer of Ulthwé. Yet here you are, fathering her child. Why is that?”
“Do not misunderstand me, Master,” LIVII replied. “My mission is to protect her. That is all I have had, since I saw her eyes through the scope.”
“You are flawed, L I V I I. Damaged. You can be repaired.”
“I am more deeply flawed than a man, and less so than the machines you build,” LIVII said. “I am content with that. Now…let us discuss this no further.”
“Have you somewhere more pressing to be, L I V I I?” the Master said placidly.
“Yes.” LIVII opened the door to his suite. “Lofn needs to get tucked in.” He closed the door to the suite behind him, leaving the master in silence.

“SO I TURN TO THE GUY AND SAY ‘NO, HE ALWAYS HAD NO ARMS.’ I THINK I SCARED HIM A BIT TOO MUCH, THOUGH, I HADN’T REALLY LOOKED IN A MIRROR SINCE, WELL, YOU KNOW,” the Emperor roared.
“I can’t imagine the poor Sergeant was content with that,” the Lord Commander Militant said, slowly flipping his stylus between his fingers as he read the report on the table before him.
“WELL, CREED LOCKED HIM UP TO MAKE SURE HE WASN’T TAINTED WITH THE WARP – SMART MAN, FOLLOWS PROTOCOL – BUT I PUT IN A WORD FOR HIM AND LUSTIG’S BACK ON DUTY,” the Emperor said.
“Good.” The Lord Commander finished the report and sat back in his chair, trying not to visibly avoid eye contact with the Emperor’s monstrous new form. “Well, the report states that the last of the Chaos Titans on Cadia have been evacuated by the Dark Mechanicus fleets, and are heading back to the Eye.”
“YEAH, I’VE TOLD CLENDEN AND QUARREN TO CHASE THE TRANSPORTS AND SHOOT THEM DOWN, IGNORING THE WARSHIPS IF NEED BE. TITANS ARE A GOO BIT HARDER TO REPLACE THAN SIMPLE DRONES AND CONVERTS.”
“A rational decision, my Lord God,” the Lord Commander said. He stood and saluted smartly. “If I may, sir, I must compose a response.”
“BY YOUR LEAVE, LORD COMMANDER, AND SEND CLENDEN, QUARREN, AND CREED MY PERSONAL THANKS AND CONGRATULATIONS. THAT’S ANOTHER BOTCHED CRUSADE BY ABBADON OUT OF OUR COLLECTIVE HAIR.”
“Of course. Your Liegeship,” the Commander said, bowing low and leaving the room. He nodded at the Grand Master of Assassins on his way out. “Sir.”
“Sir.” The Grand Master waited until the Eternity Gate slid shut before facing the Emperor and taking the Lord Commander’s seat.

“GRAND MASTER, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?” The Emperor roared.
“Replace the Eldar delegates immediately,” the Grand Master said promptly. “The little one in particular.”
“OH? ALREADY? AFTER LESS THAN TWO DAYS OF TALKS?”
“The little one is an abomination,” the Master said.
“YOU MEAN THE HALF-AND-HALF. YEAH. THAT GETS ON MY NERVES A BIT TOO.”
“It is not her heritage that fills me with revulsion, my Liege,” the Master said disgustedly. “It is her power.”
“YOU THINK SHE’S A LATENT, LIKE HER MOTHER?” the Emperor asked.
“She is. Her power is…astounding. A Primaris could fall to her might, if it manifested fully. But it is not her psychic potential that troubles me, but her mutation.”
“MUTATION? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”
“During the conference, she spoke up in the middle of an argument. She said something to me and to the Chancellor of the Estate. Do you recall?”
“I DO.”
“The moment she spoke, I sensed something emerge from her. A psychic tendril, not consciously controlled. The moment it touched the Chancellor, his mind weakened. His attitude changed, I could feel his psychic imprint tune to hers.”
“MIND CONTROL? FROM A CHILD?”
“Not control. Influence. She overrode his hostility.”
“TROUBLING. ARE YOU SURE?”
“I am no Astropath, my Liege, I do not see the Warp as a fold of cloth, but I do have strength enough to see influence. I am trained in it myself, you recall.”
“YEAH. ALL RIGHT. I’LL SPEAK TO ISHA. WHAT’S YOUR TAKE ON HER?”
“Isha?” The Master thought for a moment. “She is…unnerving. I have never felt her psychic imprint before.”

“YOU’VE NEVER SPOKEN TO A WARP GODDESS BEFORE,” the Emperor said drily. “SHE SURE DOESN’T LOOK LIKE OTHER ELDAR IN HER SOUL’S RECESSES, DOES SHE?”
“She didn’t seem to have a soul, in the conventional sense,” the Master said, feeling an unfamiliar chill run through him. “She…was a soul. One gigantic, shallow, ageless soul.”
“LIKE I SAID, WARP GODDESS. SHE IS THE ASPECT OF THE ELDAR PSYCHE THAT DEALS WITH REBIRTH. REMEMBER, BEFORE THE FALL, ELDAR WERE REINCARNATED UPON DEATH; HER ASPECT AS A GODDESS OF REBIRTH REFLECTS THAT. I’LL SPEAK TO HER AS SOON AS WE RECONVENE. UNTIL THEN, DISMISSED.”
“Very well, my Liege,” the Master said, collecting himself and standing. “Oh…I should mention that I spoke to Vindicare L I V I I.”
“AND?”
“Utterly without regret or internal conflict. He’s as focused now as he was before.”
“ON TALDEER?”
“Yes. Only now, protecting her.”
“I MET THE MAN ON ULTHWÉ AND HE CALLED ME OUT. THERE’S NOT MANY EVENTS IN MY LIFE I WOULD DESCRIBE AS ‘HUMBLING,’ BUT…” the Emperor trailed off. “I SHALL SPEAK TO HIM TOMORROW AS WELL. AND THIS CHILD…LOFN. IF HER MOTHER BROUGHT HER ALONG TO ACT AS A PASSIVE MIND CONTROL DEVICE, I WANT TO SEE IT FIRSTHAND.”
“As you wish, my Liege.” The Master bowed low and left the room, leaving the Emperor to his thoughts.

keep going....
dont stop......

Please dont stop. This is wonderful.

>Discover '...Emperasque'
>Not liked much of the 40k writefaggotry before, thought it was all impenetrable and horrible writing written awkwardly to fit ultra-serialization on forum boards
>Now I'm bashing at my F5 key like an maniac
>I am become the poor souls I used to churn out lesbian fap fiction for on the NMI forums...

>>17120117
It seems like the a lot of Emperasque's fans are writefags themselves...

>>17120117
>>17120117
NMI as in Neo Monster Island?
You sick sick puppy.

>>17120182
I actually liked Venus' Burn.
Thus i will not post on the discussion page cause the only reason you post their is to criticize something.

>>17120290
ok then, so in that case i have only one problem:
1.Fap fics take too long to complete.
Thats it really.

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 he 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.”

>>17120377
yeah, but then you leave your readers with blue balls for weeks, and then when its finally done with and your zipping up your pants, you feel empty inside because the fic was just that good.

i wouldnt really think of Venus Burns to be a fapfic. its more like a look into an the relationship during an important time between jake and venus. VB is long and doesnt really get to the sex until a good long way into it. and the sex isnt really hardcore either. it was a decent description of a cute couple's first time. i liked it as a fanfic but not as a fapfic.

>>17120290
Mm, duly noted.
I'll re-read Burn, see if I can come up with something substantive.
Ditto, btw. I can't guarantee I'd be actually productive, but if you were to fly by Beretta249 @ Deviantart and leave some commentary on the meager offerings there I might actually finish one or two.

Also, I like that you're playing up Russ as being a more "whole" being personality wise, and far less a drooling, barking dipshit of a primarch. I'm not a fan of his, but I am kind of coming around as the SW start to have kind of family structure to their chapter.

>>17120461
oh, ok yeah i totally misunderstoof what you where saying.
Now get back to writing.

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.”

i cannot believe that you just did that.

“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.”

i couldnt believe that you went into Russ and the Emperors first encounter cuz at this point i think of this as cannon and its super cool

you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. im sure someone with a short fuse here will tell u if u did something wrong. lol

“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.”

>>17120995
russ seems to be one hell of a thoughtful guy.
I liek

>>17120995

This take on Russ has got to be the best an most interesting interpritation of his character I've ever seen.

Bravo, good writefag. Bravo.

>>17121024
That was his whole shtick, as I remember. He was just as strategically-minded and thoughtful as Guilliman or Dorn, but concealed it underneath the facade of a barbarian king so that people would underestimate him. It usually worked.

>>17121097
that probably would have been nice to add onto the whole "you lost 4 brother, i lost 12 and a kingdom"
Or change it to something like,"Your lost 4 brothers, i damned an entire legion and my brother with my arrogance...." or something like that. idk. just an idea that would have been intersting for you to explore.

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.

>>17121427
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!
Cliffhangers. How i despise you.

guess ill go to bed now. night guys, read u tomorrow.

>>17120473
This. It reads much more like a novel than a fapfic... or maybe it's just really well written fapfic. Idk. I thought it was well done, definitely resonated with my experiences, which just shows that the characters are well written and believable instead of standard body-double fapfic personas.

>>17121427
Darn it! I always miss these awesome threads!

Hey, Someone Else, if you're still there, I've got a few quick questions for you:

1. How do/will the Dark Eldar feel about Isha showing back up again?

While my initial thought is that they'd maybe feel a little humbled and question their previous judgement, I get the distinct impression that Vect, at the very least, would consider her to be the ultimate prize to add to his collection. He wouldn't view her as a god returned, so much as a prize--to show the Dark Eldar's superiority over the old religion (and over their not-so-crazy brethren), and to prove to everyone that Vect is so awesome he can and will steal gods to keep as trophies.

Also, possible, to show Slaanesh up, seeing as Slaanesh never managed to capture her.

So, is this going to be a problem at some point? Is Vect going to consider Terra a prime opportunity for a good old fashioned Deity Hunt? Is Lofn also on the "list of awesome things to keep"?

2. Is Isha going to try to "rebuild" a certain remaining Eldar god, who happens to be in bits?

3. Is the Laughing God going to show up?

4. Why are you so awesome?

That's all. Thanks.

>>17121779
Good questions, Anon.
My take:
1: No idea! Possibly as a rebuke, possibly as a challenge, possibly as fuel for societal havoc and no small amount of ennui.

2: Isha's response in 2 words: Fuck. Khaine.
While I'm convinced that events in the Eldar mythic cycle are as much metaphorical as literal, I'm pretty sure Isha isn't (and won't ever be) in the mood to be generous about Khaine imprisoning and torturing and Vaul. Or caused a brutal civil war and slew Eldannesh. Etc, etc.
He's controllable now that he's in little bite-sized pieces. That's better for everyone.

3. Oooooo. SHARP, sharp you are clever-man-thing. GOOD question.

4. Can't touch that, have to wait for SE. =]

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.”

>>17125194
Time for some boarding music.

http://www.myvideo.de/watch/5009534/H_Blockx_Ring_Of_Fire

Fire Born! Fire Born!

“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 her 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-

>>17125436

>pic related, the one Tau redshirt just trying to keep out of Vulkan's way

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 startled 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.

>>17125895

F5ing faster than Kenshiro can punch!

Keep it up my friend, faithful reader since the first ever part here for you!

C'mon, OP! MOAR!

This is fantastic!

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 again, 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 blasting 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 place 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 dropped 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 off 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, howing 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.

Oh god, Fap, I just got that.

“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 Rhodes 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?”

>>17127029
He is the Fapping Tau who practices the Tao of Fapping. I'm half-surprised Slaanesh it/him/herself didn't pop in to say "keep up the good work!"

>>17127029

No, the Tau skip across it like a stone on a pond.

And he got dumped directly INTO the warp. Not just exposed to it. There's not a single cubic inch that isn't claimed by one deamon or another.

Still, I laughed at how he went. That's one of the ways I'd want to go: Death by orgasm overload.

“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.”

Y'know there would be something hilarious in having Slaanesh award Fap daemonhood and him end up being Vulcan and the Salamander's personal nemesis for the rest of eternity.

>>17127228
do it. it would be funny and i can see Tzeench persuading Slaneesh to do it for the lulz.

>>17127228

So, Faptau -> Schlick+FapTau, for twice the power?

>>17127257
If Tzeench suggest something, just say no. Everyone knows that.

>>17127329
and if tzeentch suggests enjoying your life?

>>17127350
Then clearly you haven't got much longer to live.

>>17127270
It is my deeply held personal conviction that sometimes the right answer is the one that makes you respond OH GOD WHY?! upon viewing it's results.

>>17127350

An hero.

“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.

>>17127425
>>17127514
Solid. Not bumping, but suggesting: I think it'd be an interesting choice for The Emperaque to try to be psychic text-messaging pals with Lofn. Lots of potential character exploration there, or possibly a gigantic mistake for both sides -but either way some comes out of it that enriches the story.
Regards, SE.

>>17127713
>L0fn entered chat
l0fn: Mr. Human crocodile emporer?
3mp0r3r: WHAT?
l0fn: I can haz piggyback ride?
>3mp0r3r has left the chatroom

I have to ask.

You've got Bjorn, you've got LCB, you've even got Faptau. Are you going to put Macha the Ever-Virgin in this, too, or is that too low-brow for you?

>>17128285
She's already in it.
>“Your point?” Macha replied icily. “We can hardly wait to FUCK!”

Also, the individual parts of the Tales of the Emperasque on 1d4chan are all out of order. I wonder why?

>>17128102
Indeed.
Personally, I know that gargling apple vinegar with a garlic clove stuffed up each of my nostrils is the surest way to cure Writer's Block.

>>17127784
Bahahaahaahaha!

>>17128369
I have no idea. Probably just someone being sloppy.

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?

>go to /tg/
>/tg/ is kind of meh today
>go to /co/
>/co/ is kind of meh today
>briefly consider going to /int/ and trolling Argentinians
>go to /tg/ instead
>SUDDENLY DISCOVER EMPERASQUE IN PROCESS
mfw

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 Aquilla, 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 twisiting 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.”

You're not gonna, like, bring Ferrus Manus back, will you? I mean, I liked him, but...he's dead.

>>17129558
Yeah, he's fucked. So are Alpharius, the two missing dudes, and Dorn. But the "Sanguinor is Sanguinius" thing has been floating around since Wat Mard first wrote him into Codex: Vampires. I mean Bluhd Angles.

Besides, I HATE ambiguity. HATE HATE HATE HATE.

>>17129591
i can only say one thing in light of this latest development.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i love how you write the primarchs. they come off as real people, with all the intellegince, emotions, and inner demons one would expect from people in their position.

>>17129591 Besides, I HATE ambiguity. HATE HATE HATE HATE.

Unless this is somehow paired with a deep love for outright contradictions, you should probably stay the fuck away from 40k fluff.

>>17129761
That's the point of the Emperasque!

Between the 94,000 words of Rise of the Emperasque, the 32,000 of Vulkan's Shopping Trip, and a few thousand words of Quest, this endeavor in its entirety has been my kicking everything about 40K canon square in the pills, because it's awesome and dumb as hell and full of contradictions. So I'm throwing it the fuck out having the Emperor take up residence in a Tarrasque. Why? Fuck you, that's why.

>>17129761
I know what he means. Most stuff in 40K you can figure out pretty well what the game developers are hinting at. And then there are some things that no matter how much you reread the entries, cross-check the codexes, or scour the forums, you just can't figure out.

>>17129897
Yep.
http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Saharduin

>>17129834
and it is awesome.

>>17129948
WHAT.
IS.
THIS.

>>17130053
The Eighties, man, the Eighties.

i think it would be interesting to see a skirmish with the Sarhaduin against a containment fleet and trying to escape the blockade.

Bump against the machine.

Also deleted all my other posts in here.
Pic in memoriam.

sleep is for the weak

>>17133526
And for people who are not writefaggs. Write us a story!

“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.”

time for werk
if the thread dies i can live with that

>>17134015
Sadly, it will not come to that.
Bumping for the bump god!

Thread, who told you that you were allowed to die?

Don't die on me! Defibulating!

Why do you want to die, thread?
Why?

Dying is heresy, thread

Holy fuck, this is alive. Uh, I have work today until Friday during business hours but I can fag some tonight. What do people think of the story so far? Feedback, errors, plot points?

bump

>>17136415
Loving every second of it. I got an exam tomorow, but that won't stop me from keeping the thread alive.

I'll try to get some sleep, good writing, Someone.

>>17136415
I thought I saw a few spelling mistakes earlier, but I can't seem to find them again.

other than that, good show all around. It jumps around a tad too much though.

>>17136542
It does jump around. That an artifact of me having to edit content chunks to fit 4chan's character limit, and of the Emperasque's original format: a series of completely unrelated journal flashbacks.

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…held 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.

All right, I'm spent. It's been a fun few days, thanks for playing.

will there be more story time before the new year?

>>17137879
Don't bet on it, this is draining, and I'm completely out of ideas.

I might get Venus' Burn over and done with so I can do Meeting the Khan.

>>17138282
>mfw
You've just made this anon very happy. Emperasque bless you, Someone Else.

>>17138537
How did my saying I wasn't going to writefag again for a bit encourage you?

>>17138584
It's just earnest gratitude.
You should take it, and be munificent.
You're a good author. People like your stuff.
It's ok to be pleased, even here on /tg/.

>>17138584
I think he's happy that you will be writing more about the Primarch's Daughters (at some point).

>>17139936
I'd only do Meeting the Khan because it's the only one left.

I guess this mean you can finally die, thread. It have been fun.

longest thread ive ever been on. fun ride going thru this while exams are on.

bump motha fucker

Let it die, friends. Thanks for the ride.