[sub][i]Below is the entirety of the flashback I wrote with [@Savage], describing the second meeting of Erron Khaal and Gorseval.[/i][/sub] 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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