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In Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Nation Roleplay
Been waiting for this to open up again. If there is an issue with History not having a specific tab, let me know, I spent several weeks trying to figure out a good way to make it fit into the NS style and was unsuccessful without it seeming forced. Instead, bits of history are sprinkled throughout other sections to create a more full picture of history.

In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Revelations and Revivifications
The Solstice's End - Legio XVII Flagship

“Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.”
- Assigned to a pre-M1 Terran remembrancer, identity unknown.
Days had passed since the end of the Council’s deliberations and yet still the Solstice’s End and her expeditionary fleet drifted silently over the budding planet of Nikaea. Things had been tense the last time that Nelchitl had set foot on the planet below, and though her own self-imposed isolation from the continued meetings and debates that followed even after the final day had appeared to have been for the best, it had become clear to the Emerald Priestess that now more than ever she needed to make herself available. To strengthen and even maintain her relations with her own siblings was appearing far more vital than it ever had since her discovery 19 years before. She had watched the holovids of the duel between her Augor and Eiohsa, and she had watched and listened as the pictfeeds and the Remembrancer’s data streams set dangerous trends following her brother’s foolish choice to make such an event public. Sides were being chosen between the mortals of the myriad expeditionary fleets over Nikaea, no doubt between the Astartes themselves, and though Nelchitl was starkly lacking the cut of cloth for politics that many of her siblings had been gifted by their Father, she was not so dull as to miss the lines of war being drawn in the sand even as many of her sibling’s legions departed to return to the Crusade writ large.

It was this realization of the precarious position His realm stood in that prompted her to make requests to several of her siblings. A chance to maintain herself in their good graces, and even to figure out where they themselves were beginning to draw their own lines.

Thus she found herself in an Auxiliary bay of the Solstice’s End. Not one for the pomp and circumstance of her favored sister or the theatrics of her practically machine brother she stood with a small hand-picked retinue of her daughters at her side and a single cohort of Solar Auxilia hoisting a number of honor rolls and regimental colors of the 685th Expeditionary Fleet.

Far above her, in the bridge of the Solstice’s End, the officer of the watch would receive a request to land in the auxiliary bay of the mighty warship. Upon examination of the request, the officer would no doubt see the requestor, and automatically approve it. Under these circumstances, the battered iron-grey Thunderhawk of the Tenth, the Pact of the Lance found itself being waved into position by the Army auxilia crew as Nelchitl and her retinue no doubt watched.

As the ship touched down, the access ramp on the side banged open, allowing passengers to climb out, and so they did. Arnulf Wode, clad for once in his powered plate armor, jumped to the deck, the boots mag-locking to the ferrosteel decking with a whump-clang that echoed throughout the cavernous hall. It was a subtle, but entirely intentional disregard of Crusade protocol - it was unbecoming and dangerous for the genefather of a Legion to precede his escort, but Wode did it anyway, for it was his way. Two more forms followed him out, an Astartes in the Pact’s iron-grey plate, and a smaller, human form in an armored vacuum suit. After them, an honor guard of the Saturnyne Auxilia, all of them bearing the close-boarding axe that was one of their feared weapons. They carried no banners or symbols, as was the Tenth’s tradition.

Wode took off his helmet, hooking it to his belt and replacing it with a tattered, ochre-yellow field cap that he had worn since the Salient deserts, and strode across the bay, his countenance grim. He stopped short of his sister’s entourage, and saluted, fist to breastplate.

“Sister.” He said, “Thank you for allowing us to board on such short notice. To get formality out of the way…”

He turned his head as his retinue caught up. “This is Johann Kohl, my… third in command, and Saul Imogen, my sixth.”

The other Astartes nodded, removing his helmet. Thin, white hair billowed from under it, revealing a weather-lined face with a sour expression. Saul flipped the faceplate of his vacuum suit up and smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white against his dark tan Salient complexion.

“I don’t remember if you’ve met them, but here they are.” He smiled, and looked around. “Fine ship you’ve got too, you don’t mind me saying.”

Nelchitl found herself smiling as the tattered Thunderhawk of the Tenth passed through the hangar’s integrity field and touched down, the unceremonious entrance of her brother widening her smile even more as he placed himself out front of the normal Imperial procedures for meetings such as these.

She shook her head and laughed lightly as her brother cut through the formality even further while he quickly introduced his own small retinue.

“I have seen your Saul at the Council floor Wode, though I can not say the same for your Third. An honor to be in your presence again Imogen,” she said as she stepped forward and offered the mortal an armored hand on his shoulder, “And to you, Praetor, a fine day to meet.” she swept a hand out behind her to her own retinue, passing briefly over the few assembled Astartes as she introduced them as the master of the Tenth had.

Saul, boldly familiar with the Serpent’s mistress, placed his hand on hers and inclined his head. “Honored you remembered me. I’ll have to show you the sketches I drew of you in profile sometime, I think you’d like them. I had plenty of time with all the bickering to get them right.”

“I would like that very much.” the Emerald Priestess assured Saul as she slipped an oversized hand out from under his and across the mortals cheek with a genuine smile.

Kohl, for his part, cracked his whipcord smile, an expression devoid of any real mirth or pleasure. “After I watched you fight my father on the pict-recordings, I had to meet you. If it had been me in that chamber instead, you might not have had such an easy time.”

“Can it.” Wode said, casting a withering gaze at his second, though the gaze softened. Kohl simply returned to neutrality, but there was a palpable, smug aura surrounding the Astartes.

“Captain Itzel Mayalen of the Second Company, along with a distinguished Sergeant of hers, Arabel Santino and her squad.” she passed over the assembled Solar Auxilia, aware that they needed no introduction with their regimental colors held proudly before them.

The Pact’s complement of Auxilia held their axes in front of them to silently salute their own comrades, for these men and women had shared the same horrors, albeit in different places. Wode nodded to all of them, beaming at his sister’s retainers. He was about to shake hands with all of them, but his sister quickly disabused that notion. Comradeship would have to wait, given the nature of this meeting.

Turning back to Wode and his entourage her smile became clipped as her tone dropped from it’s earlier levity, “Come Brother, there is much to discuss before I wish you to depart.”

Wode’s face turned grim. He nodded.

“No doubt what you wish to speak of is what I wish to speak of.” He said, replaying the footage of the duel he’d watched, along with everyone else in the Crusade. “We’ll, of course, allow our retainers to speak of this as well? I brought my men here specifically for their input.”

Nelchitl nodded to Wode, a sly grin creeping across her features even as her tone remained serious, “I would ask for nothing more, I find the insight of those I am not accustomed to all the more enlightening.” she affirmed before turning to make for the exit.

In lock-step, Nelchitl’s own retinue of Solar Auxilia, Saturnyne to the last, came to brisk attention and shifted cleanly to allow the Primarch’s and their retinues to pass between them. As if an afterthought Nelchitl turned as she reached the door and addressed the mortal retinues as they were about to be left behind, “Saturnyne, drink and make merry with your kin while your Scions speak, there is alcohol enough to go around on the Solstice’s End. Though do be sure to make it back to your ship before the Lord Wode.”

“Do not.” Wode said, with gravity, “Get anyone pregnant.”

With that, she smiled. Turning to lead on Wode and his retinue with little in the way of a conversation she guided them to a well-adorned chamber of luscious couches and well-stocked tables of food. Reclining in a chair obviously built for her she motioned to a similarly constructed chair for Wode and allowed Captain Mayalen and Wode’s own retinue to chose their own positions.

As the doors shut behind them and the group found their places Nelchitl eyed Wode before she spoke, “This duel, it bodes ill for all. I’m sure you are aware.” she inclined her head to the side and gazed over Saul and the Praetor, “I wish to hear your thoughts, all of you of course.”

Wode sighed, pulling his cap off and running a gauntleted hand through what little hair he had. Saul made a sad frown, and Kohl, ever the stoic, simply gazed straight ahead.

“I admit, I am naive about…” Wode started, wishing he didn’t have to voice what he thought, “...almost everything, concerning our father’s war. I have had to change a great deal. My legion has had to change a great deal, but under no circumstance, no possible situation, can I ever say that what I saw today was favorable for us.”

He looked his sister, beloved Nelchitl, in her eyes. “There was real hatred. It was not like our duel, not even close. Irreconcilable grievance. How could those two ever share a room, let alone a battlefield ever again?”

“It’s like the bickering of merchant princelings on my homeworld. Our homeworld,” Saul said, looking to Wode, “And we both know how that ended up.”

Kohl spat. “Interesting that our father tolerates such behavior, these days. He was not like this in the old times.”

Nelchitl turned her gaze to each as they spoke, her features betraying nothing beyond the vague interest in almost any topic she expressed at most meetings, though her nodding betrayed a more serious intent behind her as she sat slightly forward in her seat.

“I admit, our duel was nothing but the bonding of kin. I had no intent in causing any great harm to you during it, though I took pleasure in doing so anyway.” she laughed slightly, a flash of her violent nature passing across her eyes as she relived the duel with Wode, “But I agree fully. What was on display, for all to see nonetheless, was nothing short of hatred.”

She shifted and turned to Saul, her dark eyes falling upon him as her lips parted in a soft smile, “Your Princelings, they killed and killed did they not? Perhaps not at first, but eventually, they would bring ruination to their rivals, and to their own.” she allowed a small frown to grow as she continued to address the mortal, “That you see the writing on the wall with this, it displeases me.” she admitted.

Saul nodded. “I’m sure you’ve researched our planet since meeting Arnie, but yes. They were well on their way to ruination when the Premier found us. I’m ashamed to say that we were using war to end war ourselves, but…”

He smiled, looking into his lap. “The Legions thankfully made our efforts obsolete. I’m just worried that that solution won’t work again.”

Finally, and without turning to Kohl, she answered his words, “That you believe it is our Father that orchestrated this sits ill with me Praetor. He would allow no such thing, this was our dear sister’s doing, our newly crowned Warmaster’s first blunder if you may.”

Kohl inhaled sharply at this mild rebuke, but nodded, looking towards the deck. “I apologize. But my intent remains the same. In the old times, it would be decimation. Whole legions of good men burned for far less, and believe me when I say that.”

Wode turned to Nelchitl as Kohl finished. “Johann was with our father on Terra. He… well. The stories he tells of that time are disquieting, to say the least.”

“My greatest pride.” Kohl said, the flat disinterest in his voice momentarily defeated, “And in a lot of ways, my greatest regret. The old legions had many good men, and none as fractious as our brothers and sisters now.”

“So, that is our thoughts, sister.” Wode rumbled. “Is this prelude to war? Civil war?”

Nelchitl, her hair entangled in her fingers as she listened, brought herself to sit fully upright as Wode finally brought forth what they had all be thinking of, what every individual in the room feared.

“My… Our Father’s dominion has changed since you last tred upon the dirt of Terra, Praetor, and though I envy you for everything you bore witness to in the footsteps of the Emperor, I am pained to say that the Imperium you once knew is gone.”

The Emerald Priestess leaned forward and snatched up a goblet of wine before rising from her seat and making to walk around the room, “He guides us, as he always has, yet he leaves the Crusade for Terra,” she swallowed a gulp from the goblet and features twisted slightly as it hit with a far more sour flavor than usual, “why I can not say. Though I know he does everything for good reason Praetor. He leaves our dear sister Daena at our head, Warmaster of his armies, surely he knows that she can handle this position if he laid it at her feet. And yet…” she shrugged and waved to the assembled group. “She appears to have allowed our siblings to take a step down a dark path.”

“Civil war.” she shook her head, “I do not see it coming so quick, but I see the signs. I listen to the whispers of the mortals, I see that my own Daughters have been on edge since the pictfeeds, and I fear we are not the only of our siblings meeting as such.”

“Perhaps we are on an unavoidable path, or perhaps we worry too much Wode, perhaps we lack faith.” the Emerald Priestess stopped behind her brother and leaned over the side of his seat, “Do you think me mistaken? Am I wavering in my faith in Father?” she asked in a tone far more personal than her earlier words to the group at large.

Faith. The word had a pronounced reaction in all three Lancers. Wode’s hand flew to his neck, intending to grasp the Catheric cross beneath his shirt, but his armor blocked it. Saul closed his eyes, his face a grimace of pain, and Kohl simply sneered. It was a long time before anyone spoke.

“I have faith in Father.” Wode said, slowly, choosing his words with care. “But I do not have faith in us.”

Saul nodded. Kohl, his humors choleric, chimed in. “Faith is ridiculous where our Father is concerned. He is a man, like any of us, though he is the greatest of us.”

Wode glared up at Kohl with anger. “Can it, Johann.”

The Praetor directed his sneer to his father. “With respect, father, I won’t. Do you expect me to sit here and listen to this Salienti drivel? Have you parade around a ghost of humanity’s past when we’re supposed to be putting it behind us?”

Nelchitl stood to her full height as Kohl directed his ire to his own genefather, sorrow filling her features as she cut into the display, “Perhaps you too, Praetor, should have been left on Terra among the killing fields and the bones of dead empires.” she stated coldly, though her pain was evident as she spoke, “I pity you my nephew, that you lack the vision to behold as we do, to believe as we do. So stuck in your old ways, those wonderful and terrible times long gone, you miss the galaxy marching on without you.” she finished as she slipped around Wode’s seat to sit on one of its arms, cutting only a small sorrow filled smile to Saul as she did.

Wode looked up to her, face filled with worry. Without thinking, seeking the solace of touch, he replaced his arm that had been on the armrest onto her lap. Kohl shook his head, and spoke again.

“I think, Aunt, you speak true.” He eventually said. “But my disgust has never affected my loyalty. I can only hope it brings me death before I witness these great works perish.”

This time turning her attention to her brother she continued her sorrowful tirade, “To lack faith in us, in our own siblings, and in His Warmaster… Is that not to be shaken to the core brother? To have our faith in Him questioned at its most base?” she sighed and placed a gentle hand on his armored thigh, “It pains me to say this, so much so I can not express it, but I see His realm spiraling out of control following our own siblings actions. And I yearn for Him to fix it. Yet here we are,” she smiled softly, “alone and with only one of our own to set right these wrongs.”

Wode sighed, the exhalation implying great pain. “You’re not wrong sister. This Council, our sibling’s duel, I have to say, my faith has been sorely tested. I don’t like seeing our work undone, even if my involvement in it is new. But…”

He gritted his teeth. He looked into Nelchitl’s eyes, then Saul’s, then Kohl’s. He found three different emotions in all of them, but each was their own comfort. He slammed the fist not resting on his sister’s body into the armrest of his chair, startling everyone in the room with a rifle-crack noise.

“But god dammit! War’s what we do, isn’t it?” He bellowed. “Does it matter who we fight? Truly? Saul, you and I kicked every other Salient bastard’s ass on our world, didn’t we? And you Johann, you killed the thunder warriors when you were asked, didn’t you?”

Both nodded. Wode continued his tirade. “And Nelchitl, you damn near killed me. Any enemy. We swore to fight -any- enemy for this crusade. And I don’t know about all of you, but I fucking meant it. For our father’s work, I would kill any god damned thing he pointed me at, whether I was related to it or not. Augor and Eiosha want to start a war with family?”

He leaned forward. “I’ll unmake them, if I have to. For a galaxy that is truly ours, I’ll kill a traitor as gladly as I’ll kill an alien, mark me very god damn well.”

Saul nodded at this, his smile terse but serious, and Kohl merely offered his knife-slit, psychopath’s grin. Wode looked to his sister.

“And you?”

“Was there ever a question of it?” the Emerald Priestess beamed, herself reinvigorated by Wode’s display of his dedication to all they held dear. Silently, she felt foolish for having doubted that she would end up somehow arrayed against her Father, that she could ever truly be shaken to her base and lined up to wage war against that which she held most dear.

“If need be I’ll end even you, my dear Wode.” she smiled as she lifted his arm from her lap and placed it back on his. Standing up she moved back around the room, stopping this time before the form of Wode’s implacable Praetor. With a flash of movement, she had him between her arms, the Terran veteran held aloft from under his arms by the Primarch of the Seventeenth with ease.

“I would expect and hope for no less.” Wode growled, but good naturedly. He grinned as Nelchitl approached, then picked up his frustrating 3IC. Kohl was his most difficult son, but his brilliance could not be denied. That the man’s icy exterior had cracked, even so slightly, at this meeting made Wode’s heart soar with hope.

“Perhaps you have use still,” she stated as she spun him in her hands as if some tool, “You have seen many an upheaval in your time, that you see this any different, I find hard to believe.” she placed the Praetor back down and smiled upon him with the warm of the sun, “Those unnecessary were purged once, to do it again would not be unheard of. You may prove very useful to help us keep our Father’s realm, your Father’s realm.” she finished happily before moving now towards Saul.

Kohl bore this attention with the barely-tolerated demure of a poorly behaved cat, but he did bear it. When she smiled at him, he blinked, nonplussed, but quickly resumed his facade.

“It is the nature of warriors to complain.” He said, quietly, “And the oldest ones complain the most. But I would not have you think of me as anything but the weapon I am. My only desires are a worthy cause, and a worthy death. The details…”

The praetor pursed his lips, nodding to himself. “I’ll leave to you and my father, and our father of fathers.”

“Your father will no doubt use you at your best Praetor, of this I have no doubt.” she replied as she stopped in front of Saul.

Wode beamed at Kohl, his approval for the taciturn Astarte’s words evident in the pride in his eyes. Saul, for his part, looked up at the Emerald Priestess as she approached him, blinking and smiling, seeming confused, even now, as to why she would bother approaching him.

Looking down upon the mortal frame of Saul Imogen, Nelchitl felt a pang of regret at allowing him to attend this meeting, though the feeling quickly passed as she realized the absurdity of it. If one such as Saul could stand at Wode’s side up to this point, then there was no use keeping his mortal mind blind to the wider Imperium that moved around his greatest friend and brother.

“You and I, we share something very precious.” she began as she took a seat on the couch next to the mere man, “Our brother that is.” the massive form of the Primarch loomed over Saul as she brought an arm around his shoulder, “To trust you as he does leaves me no doubt I can do the same. And trust you I do, for who better to ensure my brother’s safety than one with very real reason to fear the maelstrom that may be coming. Your mortality is your strength, and I expect you to wield it where we can not.” she motioned to the other three functional immortals in the room, “And ensure he remains breathing as best you can.”

“I still fear Wode, that what has begun can not be stopped. It is insidious, the nature of these things. It creeps in veiled in righteous fury and bruised pride, and it leaves behind only ashes. Like the great wastes of your homeworld,” she leaned forward and inclined her head toward Kohl, “or even yours Praetor.”

“I trust I can count on you Wode, on your Praetor and the Tenth,” she clenched Saul’s shoulder softly, “And on you as well Saul.”

Saul’s body trembled with emotion, but he choked it down as best he could. He nodded, and when he spoke, it was gravelly with barely contained feeling.

“When I met the Premier, I knew. I saw him before Arnie did, you know. I surrendered to him.” He swallowed. “I was nothing before all of this. No family, no money, no hope, no future. I don’t think what Arnie and I were trying to do would’ve worked without the Premier and what he’s done. He gave us back everything. All I can do now is give him everything. It’s what our Pact means, after all.”

Her gaze remained light as she turned to await the answer of her brother, a hint of anticipation evident as she studied his grizzled features.

“Saul’s right. We can’t go back on our promise.” Wode said, simply. “And now, I make the same promise to you, Nelchitl. I will die before I let the Imperium fall.”

Nelchitl smiled, the warmth spreading through her features as she pulled Saul in close almost out of instinct rather than any sort of grand display.

“As will I, Wode, death before dishonor, or the collapse of all our Father holds dear. To give this Imperium a million years, I’d gladly give myself.” The Emerald Priestess released Saul from her embrace, tears running down her face as she did. With a hint of confusion, she wiped the tears away and composed herself.

“I must ask, though I feel I have asked much, of which of them do you feel more likely? To turn on our Father?”

Wode folds his arms, staring at his knees as he thinks. “I suppose Augor. Though I don’t have great faith in either, I admit, if Augor’s accusation is true. But my brother, with his… machine idolatry, it makes me uncomfortable. The Mars technocracy does great and good works, and there are many good people in my brother’s legion. I certainly couldn’t make war without them.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “But I don’t trust Augor. I don’t like what his legion does - the braining. As for Eiosha…”

He shook his head. “So much talent, but she spreads it so far. Always a great work here, an invention there, a campaign here, psyker magicks there. She spreads herself too thin, and a woman that works with too many tools at once eventually injures herself grievously. They both, I fear, are due for a fall from grace.”

“Augor is chained by his dogma, by his Priesthood. I do not fear him. Though I understand your views.” she paused and waved a lazy hand, “Eiohsa however… She is broken, a craven in a position made for the stalwart. She does not act as we do, only in half measures and broken promises.” she turned to Saul and then her own daughter for the first time since this meeting had begun.

“Mayalen, how many worlds does she possess?” she asked of her Captain.

There was no hesitation as the Serpent spoke for the first time, “777 inhabited worlds, many of which are self-sufficient forges or fortress worlds. She maintains her own shipyards and war industry my Lady.”

“This is what I fear of the two. The one with the means, and the broken mind, to go against our Father. Augor is misguided, but he is constrained by the Martian Priesthood. Eiohsa lacks the restraints he has on him. This is what worries me.”

“Seven hundred and seventy seven worlds?” Wode said, aghast. He put his hand to his temple, closing his eyes. “Forgive me, but I can hardly imagine the scale. I only had the one, and ‘had’ is a strong term. I wasn’t even the master of it until Father came. Seven hundred seventy seven…”

Kohl and Saul seemed to blanch at this as well. Wode grinned at the two of them. “The things we could’ve done with all those worlds, eh?”

Kohl shook his head. “Administration is a waste of our talents, and our lives. Like tying a racehorse to a plow when a grox bull would do.”

Saul laughed at this. “And I’m the beast of burden then, I suppose?”

Kohl looked at the human, and spoke. “You’re wasted on a human’s lifespan, Imogen. If we’d found you as a youth, we would have given you apotheosis, but alas, you had to go and get old before we could get to Salient.”

Saul bowed his head in mock penance. “I’ll do better next time then.”

“See that you do.” Kohl said, and tittered in an odd giggle. At no point did any of this emotion ever reach his eyes, but, it seemed as genuine as the Praetor could get.

“I have to say I agree with my Praetor, Nelchitl.” Wode said eventually, “But I do have something else to say on the matter. Seven hundred and seventy seven worlds fly Eiosha’s banner…”

He leaned forward in his seat. “But do they fly the Imperial eagle? Salient was one world, but it was a fractured world, broken up into city states only loyal to their merchant princes. The concept of loyalty to Salient itself, to view every Salienti citizen as an equal, was an alien concept. True loyalty to the planet, and to the Imperium, was only forged in war.”

He closed his eyes. “I do not believe it is as simple as seven hundred and seventy seven worlds, itself a huge chunk of any given galactic sector, being loyal to our Father’s cause just because the woman who owned them swore fealty. And with all those forges, all of those weapon manufactorums cranking out material, how difficult would it be to amass an army large enough to stall the Crusade? To stop it even?”

“Nothing is ever so simple brother.” Nelchitl agreed as she leaned back into the couch, its frame creaking beneath her armored weight as she did, “A holding so large, and for so long in her hands… I doubt their loyalty has ever truly been in the light of Imperial rule. She bends them to her own needs. It’s Industry already provides for all of her Legion, for all of the units they claim attached as well.”

The Primarch shook her head and placed an arm over the back of the couch, “The armies you speak of already walk the stars. They wave the Imperial Aquilla on their banners, stamp it to their armor and arms. But for how long...?” she trailed off, allowing the others to speak if they wished.

“Not much longer, if recent events are anything to go by.” Wode rumbled. He crossed his arms. “What I’m suggesting, Sister, will be considered traitorous speech if overheard by the wrong people, but it needs suggesting nevertheless. These contingencies I’m going to suggest your legion take as well as mine were thought up by our very own executioner, Praetor Kohl here.”

The Astartes nodded, dipping his head.

“Of all of us, and I include you as well sister, I believe he has the best idea of the internecine nature of Imperial rule.” Wode continued, “I believe in father’s dream, but dreams are rarely realized without acknowledging the nightmares either. I am proposing including within our Legions training for anti-Astartes combat. All the way down to where to stab with a knife, all the way up to the weaknesses of Legiones Astartes tactical and strategic doctrine.”

“This is, not, of course, to suggest that warfare like this will become commonplace.” Saul said, “Just that knowing what that kind of conflict will look like and how to prosecute it may be a boon in the coming days.”

“That’s right.” Wode nodded, “The Imperium of our dreams will be vast, encompassing all of humanity, of all cultures, races, and creeds, including Homo Sapiens Astartes. They will rub up against one another. They will come in conflict with one another, and if a legion as large as the Daughters of Iron decides they’re tired of their gene-mother taking in on the cheek, they can be met without surprise, without shock, with nothing except what a noncompliant world would meet; resolve, and determination.”

“And meeting such…” Kohl began in his reedy voice, “...hopefully they can be brought to their senses before final censure is needed.”

Nelchitl kept the surprise from her features well enough. A hint of her emotions only making itself known in the sudden shift in her position as Wode and his Praetor spoke. She scowled at the Praetor as he finished, the taste of shame rising in her throat as she did.

“You have started this, haven’t you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, “Your Legion already trains, or is at least prepared to, for Astartes on Astartes then?” she disliked the proposition greatly, some childish part of her believing that deal with only Eiohsa would be enough to solve this problem, but she knew better than that, even if she was remiss to admit it.

“Even before all of this, you have been preparing. How distrusting you must be of us all Praetor,” she slipped her arm down and around Saul at her side, and though the action was simple it carried with it all the promise of violence that the Emerald Priestess was known for, “I wish not for cousins to come to blows if it can be avoided. To cut the head off of the snake is my ultimate goal if it comes to such.” she gently squeezed Saul’s shoulder as she spoke.

“But if it must, if it is unavoidable for my daughters to fight their cousins, I will agree to this. But not yet, there is still time to avoid this.”

Kohl met the accusation with his usual stoicism. If her words bothered him, it would’ve been impossible to tell without biometrics screenings, but nevertheless, he responded.

“My personal company has always trained like this.” Kohl said, “And only recently have I gotten approval to give what I know to the rest of the Lightnings.”

Wode cleared his throat at that, and Kohl dipped his head in response. “The Pact, I apologize. It may not seem sincere, but I have no desire for Astartes civil war either. But my father is, despite his many flaws, a practical man, and eventually he let me have my time in the sun. If this conversation ends, and the only result, Aunt, is that you think less of me for being paranoid, then let it be so.”

Saul nodded, hoping to dissipate the tension in the room. He didn’t recognize fully the danger he was in with Nelchitl so close, but he knew that the paradigm had shifted in a way that was not healthy. He spoke next.

“We are a warfighting legion.” He affirmed, “And it is the job of any group of soldiers to prepare for the conflicts that seem realistic. I think it would be a sad day if the Astartes Legion, the finest weapon produced by man, goes the way of horse cavalry or biplanes because we didn’t accurately predict the kind of wars we’d have to fight.”

“Training is also not warmongering, sister.” Wode said, fixing her with his steel-grey gaze. “The Tenth would never advocate for war to fix the dispute between the Stargazers and the Daughters. Merely that if open conflict does erupt, that the dissent is put down as efficiently as possible, with minimum time and loss of life. If our legions can burn whole systems of aliens and non-compliant cultures, what could they do to our own worlds, many of whom are only guarded by a token levy of Imperialis Militia? And how much destruction could they reap if our response is inadequate?”

“We are all warfighting Legions, Saul. Though some admittedly more than others, and yet I know of no others that think as you do.” she shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips, “Perhaps that is our flaw.” she admitted.

The grip on Saul’s shoulder waned and Nelchitl continued, “I do not think ill of you Praetor, I am just… surprised, that an Astartes can think as you do. My daughters do not imagine a day when they would fight their cousins.”

“We only relish that which takes place in a sparring cage, I must admit.” Captain Mayalen chimed in from her corner of the room. Nelchitl nodded to her daughter and continued.

“My Serpent’s are perhaps the most well suited for the violence of our Father’s Crusade, and yet I admit, I think they would be hardpressed to raise a bolter against a cousin.” Nelchitl’s features became weary as she pulled Saul in close as if for some sort of comfort, “I have no issue putting down one of my own siblings. I would do it in a heartbeat were it to maintain the Imperium, to further His goals. Here I have been, daydreaming of the day I truly fight one of you to the height of our abilities, nothing pulled or redirected. Yet I failed to see the obvious in that eventuality Kohl. I missed the logic that drove your decision.”

“I think you wise beyond credit, even if your area of expertise has a niche application.” she smiled at Kohl now, Saul still being pulled against her armor as she did, “Never could I hate a nephew with such promise.”

“The Serpents I have had great respect for since before they reclaimed you, and it has only grown since then.” Kohl said, with more grace than the two Lancers with him ever thought possible, “...and fratricide is never a quality someone should feel regret for not possessing the capability to do. I too crave the honor of single combat, but in reality, it’s never as simple as simply beating someone in a contest of arms. Every champion slain inspires one of his spears to take his place, and it is those spears he leads who are the true strength in his arms.”

There was silence from the Tenth delegation, until Wode broke it. “I wish I did bring a remembrancer for that line, Kohl. Where have you been hiding that chestnut?”

“Oh, around and about.” Kohl said airily, and he tittered.

Wode directed his attention back to his sister. “As for you, Nelchitl, I understand your fondness for Praetor Imogen, I would hold him that close all the time if I could. However, I do ask that when we leave, you return him to us, alright?”

“Oh, you don’t -have- to.” Saul said from between the Emerald Priestess’s arms, “It’s quite nice here.”

“I have several Remembrancer’s aboard if you’d wish to repeat your wisdom for the masses, Praetor.” Nelchitl smiled deviously as she made the ridiculous offer.

Turning now back to Wode the Emerald Priestess’s mind was made up, her path set in the outcome of all she had garnered from those assembled. “I would like your training regiment, everything you have. Though I wish not to spread it far, I will begin with those daughters I trust most.” she nodded to Wode and then his Praetor.

“And I wouldn’t mind keeping Saul for a while. Perhaps he could even be elevated beyond his kin, I see only wasted potential in allowing you to remain fragile as you are.” she admitted, a sly grin creeping over her lips as she pulled him closer in mock protection at Wode’s request.

The 5th army praetor, a mere human and a short one at that, was held fast by what seemed to be a casual hug. Nelchitl’s muscles were like steel cable, and although they exerted almost no force in the gentle hug, it was like being tied to a hospital gurney. Wode raised both eyebrows at this gesture, then looked to Kohl, who seemed very interested in the point where the bulkheads met the overhead of the space.

“As much as I would like to be abducted by a host of warrior women who are the peak of genetic perfection…” Saul started, and Wode laughed, throwing his head back and bellowing laughter. Kohl closed his eyes and his shoulders shook, and Saul grinned.

“Well, alright, put like that there doesn’t really appear to be a downside.” Saul said, and Wode howled again with laughter.

“What a problem you’ve developed, Saul.” Wode said through tears, “Reminds me of those old terran myths about kings and how goddesses would steal their life’s essence in bed. What an absolutely terrible problem to have.”

“Oh, so I’m a king now?” Saul said, then looked up, craning his neck, to look Nelchitl in the face. “See? I’m royalty. I got prospects, so you wouldn’t even have to be embarrassed.”

Voice wavering with suppressed humor, Kohl spoke up. “If you two would stop thinking with the little spears, I believe we were asked a question? Are we simply to let my aunt steal Saul away because she can flutter her eyelashes at you, Father?”

Wode rolled his eyes, and it was Saul’s turn to laugh, and he did so generously. “In other legions they behead warriors who talk like that to their genesire, Johann.”

“Oh?” Kohl tittered. “I do hope it’s the Stargazers that practice such ways, so they can put a new body on me so I can do it again.”

Saul shook his head and responded. “Dearest Nelchitl, Emerald Priestess, I know you’ve been wooed by my galaxy-level charms, but, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay as I am. Just a little rejuvenat every so often. Mortality gives me the onus to complete the Premier’s vision, you see. If I have a deadline, I just do better work, you know?”

Nelchitl allowed her brother and his sons their time to speak candidly to one another, enjoying the banter as she held Saul with a waning smile. “A shame to be sure,” Nelchitl stated with dismay as she passed a hand along the curve of Saul’s cheek, “you’ve so many uses only given the time to realize them. A man like you…” she allowed her words to trail off unfinished as she smirked at Wode.

“Besides, I wouldn’t treat you like one of those Terran kings. What use would you be to me if I stole the essence of your soul as you slept, simply a dead husk is worth nothing to me.” she stated seriously, the more subtle meaning of Wode’s ancient reference lost on the Emerald Priestess as easily as such other subtle ideas.

With a sigh, she released Saul from her embrace and stood. Passing her gaze over Wode’s chosen sons and then to Wode himself she frowned, “Were we able to spend more time together, I would have you all stay with me as long as the Council kept us tied up here.” she shook her head and her frown warmed slightly at the action, “But we have all been delayed here too long as it stands. My daughters have their own issues beyond the confines of this system that I must see to personally.” she strode across to Wode where he sat and placed a hand on his shoulder as she stopped at his side, “Next time we meet, I pray that our conversation here was unneeded.” she smiled and took her hand from Wode, “Till next time, my favored nephews.” she finished as she left the chamber, the hum of vox chatter emanating from her suit as she disappeared around the corner.
In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The Eleventh Labour
The Solstice's End - Legio XVII Flagship
Space above Nikaea was crowded. Swarms of smaller craft moved around the far larger cargo transports of the Munitorum as equipment, munitions, and foodstuffs were given over to the insatiable appetites of the twenty-odd expeditionary fleets in orbit above the burgeoning world. Small motes of light darted between cargo transport holds open to the void and the far larger warships of the legions as a dance of mindnumbing logistics was played out in utter silence. A thousand small craft alone moved between four different Munitorum cargo ships around the immediate space of the Solstice’s End as a number of larger bulk lifters shuttled ponderously toward the blinking lights and gaping maws of loading bays scattered across the behemoth warship, only one of more than a dozen of such warships in the void above Nikaea, each a dazzling pearl of activity strung out above the maelstrom of the world below.

Aboard the flagship of the Seventeenth legion, the activity was unceasing. Officers and Munitorum adepts hurried about with flutters of Departmento forms and writs of delivery as shuttle after shuttle touched down, unloaded, and lifted back off through the integrity fields of a hundred different hangar bays. The ship itself, by no means at a war footing, maintained a constant screen of vigilance, turrets tracking the individual craft as they came and went and an endless stream of vox hails and databursts confirming and reconfirming identities, cargo, approaches, and delivery windows. Yet for all this effort even the veteran crew of the mighty Gloriana could not keep up with everything in their near space. A number of smaller craft, though none intending harm to the magnificent ship, had managed to approach and land undetected; and though their Departmento issued timetables had been immaculately followed by the flight crews, each had been greeted by a stern Astartes fireteam and a high-ranking beratement at the hands of the Serpent’s human counterparts.

“High velocity approach detected.” The chime of the sensor-servitor’s robotically calm tone belied the threat of its message, spoken loudly enough that the warning carried over the condescending tones of the ship’s administrators, the implication hanging in the air in the silence that followed.

Whichever unfortunate rating had the position of monitoring approaching traffic at this exact moment had less than a handful of moments to react. An almost impossibly small, on the cosmic scale of the Imperium’s space-going vessels, broke away from the larger swarm of traffic among the orbiting fleets. The turn was shockingly quick even for the nature of void travel, such that all but the Imperium’s most agile craft would be pulled apart by their own motive forces.

“Potential attack vector, brace action recommended.” The same hangerbound servitor chimed in its equally monotonous tone, the time that passed just enough for the mortal crew present to begin to register what was occurring. The Astartes, already in motion, had a handful of moments in advantage. It was still not enough to be in position before a streak of gold erupted into the hanger bay. The wave of noise struck first, passing through the environmental skein of the craft, powerful engines immediately erupted in cacophony as they passed out of the vacuum.

Any weapons and defenses that snapped to the new arrival immediately faltered as a towering figure dropped from the ancient body of her craft. She struck the plate of the ship with a heavy clang despite her grace, the ease of her landing not negating the force of impact of her armoured form touching down. Rising to her full height, the eyes of Sekhmetara’s helm regarded those present, in whatever state they may be, before the sound of her voice, distorted yet still sonorous by her helm issued forth, waiting only for the scream of Apoasha’s jets to die down as the craft settled into its idle hover.

“Take me to my sister.”

A number of deck ratings that had been caught between the onrush of Sekhmetara’s approach and the response of security personnel found themselves on their knees as the armored figure of a Primarch fell before them. Further back, stunned Armsmen exchanged unsure glances among one another before the vox amplified response of a Serpent cut through the shock of the moment.

“Lady Sekhmetara,” the Serpent, a Sergeant of the Second Company by markings, began as she mag-locked her bolt pistol to her thigh and offered the sign of the Aquila with her armored hands, “The Emerald Priestess is in counsel with the Mistress of the Fleet and the Captain of the Second, I must apologize, Lord, as standing orders are clear to ensure no interruptions of this,” she stated defiantly, a notable waver in the distorted sound of her voice through her vox grill as she stood admirably against a demigod.

The lights of Sekhmetara’s helmet lenses momentarily flicked out, the gleaming green of the protective glass seeming to swim for the moment before the light returned and the lenses no longer presented a temporary, dull, kaleidoscope.

"Do not make me repeat myself, niece, that was not a request." The level nature of her voice was a sure sign of the broiling anger beneath the helm. It was not the Mithran manner to conceal emotions, if misdirection was necessary it would be done with a core of truth. To deaden oneself suggested a tempest that could only be stalled, and never contained. The roar of the jetbikes engines picked up again, the ancient spirit with the war machine responding to the base urges of its bonded rider. Just as menacingly, the telltale click of its hurricane bolter system cycling to fire. It was a reflex reaction based on a violent impulse, but Sekhmetara made no move to calm the beast howling within the circuits of the steed.

The Serpent stood still as a statue as Sekhmetara and her jetbike made their intentions clear. Were it perhaps another Astartes, or even a mortal making these demands the Sergeant may have noticed the nearly autonomous response of the jetbike, but blinded as they were by the demigod before them their mind was as far from the jetbike as it could be.

There was a shift in the demeanor of the Sergeant as she pivoted where she stood with an arm outstretched toward one of the massive exit doors from the hangar, “This way Lord.” she stated before taking off at a brisk pace, the roar of Apaosha’s engines ringing in her helmet as she did.

Standing before the door of Nelchitl’s chambers Captain Mayalen was alerted of the arrival of her Primarch’s sister the moment her likeness had been confirmed in the hangar bay, and though Sergeant Santino did an admirable job at attempting to redirect the Mithran she had failed as expected.

Now the Captain tracked the progress of her Sergeant and guest on her helmet’s holodisplay as she worked out her words for the demigod to explain the situation taking place on the other side of the doors at her back. Not long later the Legion’s guest arrived before her.

Dropping to a knee, Captain Mayalen lowered her head differentially, “Apologies Lady Sekhmetara, our Mother is predisposed and wished for no interruptions.” she paused as she raised her head to look the Mithran straight on, “Though I believe you are surely an exception to this request.” She stood and with a few keystrokes at the door controls stepped back as the doors once more opened on tortured hinges, water running into the only recently dry passageway once more as smoke rolled forth from the space between the parting doors.

As the ashen cloud rolled forth from the chamber the gleam of Sekhmetara’s form was momentarily dulled, the demigod standing in the full force of the dark surge as the doors parted. Beyond the momentary pause, there seemed little reaction from the primarch as to this revelation, no question as to the state or cause of the broiling smoke and slough of water. Without another word, the Mithran Primach stepped forwards, her glorious image disappearing into the swell. Given the orders her sister’s legion had attempted to impart on her, she did not feel the need to echo that the chamber be resealed, which the grinding gears of the ship soon spoke truth to her assessment.

Within her helm, the optical interface of her helmet flickered against the darkness, the lenses damaged by the wrathful heat of her eyes it was struggling to process the environment. Her own senses superior to the task, she removed the helm, casting it aside. The priceless artifact of Imperial artifice clattered to the ground, already forgotten as Sekhmetara continued to move forwards. Molten trails of superheated gold rolled down her cheeks, leaving faint burn marks in their wake which would heal long before they could scar. Still, even a Primarch could feel the sting of such heat, and she welcomed the sharpening trickle of pain.

“Sister.” Sekhmetara called out, an unusual tone of vulnerability tainting her words as she sought the Emerald Priestess, not from fear of being lost in the destruction, her own senses guided her well enough, but a more personal pain and fear, of being unwilling to delay their reunion any further. When no response greeted her immediately, the burning light of her eyes flared into existence, bright even through the darkness as twin lines of white-hot fury issued forth from her, burning long arcs in whatever remained of the ship work around her, metal crumpling before her as if it was wood on a fire. “Nelchitl!”

“Sekhmetara.” the voice of Nelchitl answered from somewhere further into the room, her voice discordant as smoke twisted the normally poetic accent of the Emerald Priestess into a flat monotone.

“You push my wishes aside.” the monotone of her voice came again, this time from another direction, the Emerald Priestess no doubt circling her sister in the gloom as Sekhmetara’s gifts flared to life and began to cut through the ruins of the room, “Why?”

“Am I that to you as well? An inconvenience to your wishes?” Sekhmetara seethed into the darkness, the armoured talons of her fingers pressing into the palm of her gauntlets with an audible grind. “Are you not more than my sister? Dawn-of-my-heart? Must I find reason to seek your embrace? Next I wish your company shall I request it through your equerry and join your line of supplicants?” The words tumbled forth from her lips, the first of her dripping tears beginning to sear the tips of her mouth. As she spoke, the light of her eyes blazed brighter, even more so than when she had unleashed her distress.

“I would see you!” She snarled into the darkness before the light surged, a blazing golden halo igniting from Sekhmetara, the long brown curls of her hair blazing into yellow, then molten white as her psychic power coursed through her form, a halo of pure heat and light crowning the scion of the Emperor in her most terrible glory, casting back ever greater amounts of the Darkness.

Fear did not flood the other Primarch in the room as Sekhmetara made her psychic might be known. Instead, the Emerald Priestess stopped her incessant circling of her sister, her face filled only with shame as Sekhmetara’s radiance finally cut through the din of Nelchitl’s destruction.

“For you, my sister, I would steal your bones for another sunrise,” Nelchitl stated quietly where she stood, the shattered mural of their Father her backdrop once more, “To Mictlān and back I’d gladly go, for one more day with you.” She offered the enraged demigod of her sister a genuine smile, though the shame remained as her sister saw the full display of her own outrage in stark color.

Nelchitl stepped away from the mural, crossing the void to her favorite sibling, her radiance painful even to one of the Emperor’s children, “What enrages you so?” She whispered as she brought a hand up to wipe away a molten tear from Sekhmetara’s perfect features, the other coming up to cup her chin as she did, “Rage does not suit you, just as our dear Daena. You’re both far too graceful for it.” she frowned, “It is best left to me.” She added with a small laugh.

As Nelchitl took the searing tear onto her own digit, the gleaming valley of a scar left behind in its wake continued to flicker upon Sekhmetara’s features, even as her skin began to reknit with visible speed, the gleaming after-trail of heat right at the core of the valley through her skin. Still, her hair remained golden-white, heat leaching from it into the air, but of a purer, cosmic tone, fighting awake the choking soot of the rather more mundane destruction belching into the air. “I will feel what I feel, Sister, not even you can turn aside the Sun’s glare, would that I could.” Despite her words, an element of softness crept into her tone. “I failed, I did not do enough for Father to trust me with the burden of his command...and now the jackals will rend our Sister’s flesh instead of mine.” She did not hide the competing twists of envy, concern, and shame that wracked her from her dearest sister. How else could she see it? For a moment she had control between their warring siblings, but her Father and Sister had allowed them to resort to greater violence. The discord would fester, only because her father had not been able to place the burden upon her.

“Why must they all act like savages and machines!? What hearts do they have?” Her rage flared again, this time without the tears of loss, air hissing into steam before the molten orbs of her eyes as her vision focused on her sister. “You feel it too, this disbelief, this is why you are here, why we find ourselves rooted in destruction.” She spoke, without any judgment, her own touch finally reaching for her sister, embracing the shorter Primach with a force that would shatter mortal humans.

Wrapped up in Sekhemetara’s embrace Nelchitl stood, pain etched on her features as her beloved sister’s anger burned at her every exposed bit of flesh, yet she remained. Her own hands came to rest at Sekhmetara’s armored back as her sister’s anguish was made known.

“He has His reasons Sekhmetara…” she began, her gaze moving to attempt to look into the radiance of her sister’s features, “that Daena is Warmaster and not you, I can not say why. But He must.” her gaze faltered as the afterimage of Sekh was burned into her corneas, her face shying away from Sekh as she pushed softly off of the burning ember of a demigod.

“Were things different, had I known, maybe we could have petitioned him. A united front that our beasts of brothers and sisters never could have managed…” she sighed and turned to the mural behind her, the hydraulic fluid still leaking down the gash in His image as it had since she had created the wound.

“But we did not know, and He did not ask our input.” she frowned as the heat of Sekhmetara continued washing over her, “I can not offer you answers Sekh, but I can offer you release, though temporary,” she said as she beckoned to the destroyed chamber around them.

With careful slowness, Sekhmetara released her hold on Nelchitl, stepping away from her, frowning slightly at the pain her presence caused her ‘younger’ sibling. “No, there are no answers.” She sighed, before the burning light of her eyes and halo finally faded, leaving only the low gleam of her searing white hair. The elegant primarch lent down, her taloned gauntlets claiming the twisted remains of what could once have been half a cogitator, weighing the hefty warped body of metal with an evaluating raise of her eyebrow. “But we can always finish what you’ve started.” Before, with a cathartic shriek of frustration, the Mithran primarch cast the great weight into the darkness of the smog, a thunderous crash heralding its landing.

“There are always answers,” Nelchitl whispered to her Father as she the cogitator disappeared into the smoke. With the resounding crash of the machine's further demise, she turned to Sekhmetara, a smile on her face and excitement in her eyes as she hefted a shard of masonry off the floor. With a yell, she sent the piece flying, careful to miss what remained of the mural, and watched contentedly as the stone smashed into the bulkhead shattering into pieces and shear ornamental metal from the wall.

“Then sister,” she stated as she meandered over to an already badly damaged ornamental column, “you worry too much, our dear Angel will survive, as she always has!” she exclaimed as she placed a kick to the center of the pillar. Supports in the floor gave way at the strength of a demigod, the pillar tumbling down nearly whole as wires sparked and the work of artisans long dead was dashed through water and broken tiling.

“Perhaps! And while Daena is busy attending to the whining of our siblings, we can earn ourselves greater glory, the worlds of the galaxy open before us! None shall conquer as we shall conquer, and none shall again.” Sekhmetara roared again, although this time some good humour flooded her declaration, even as Sekhmetara tackled herself through the stone wall of another mural, one not so dedicated to her father’s likeness, the stone powdering before her like plasterboard, the Mithran primarch sprawled laughing boisterously in the rubble. “Why do you not have wine sister!? Have I taught you nothing?” She laughed, throwing a piece of rubble at her sister, masonry with enough force to shatter mortal bone expended like snow on a child’s playground.

Stone dusting across her Nelchitl turned with a laugh on her lips, “Of course I have wine, I learned much of it above Praxia and when we first met, though the servants are far too terrified to bring it to me now.” she admitted as she lazily tossed a piece of stone at her sister's recumbent form.

“But we can try to get some.” she offered as she loped over to a panel on the wall. With a few flicks of her fingers, she let out a defeated sigh and placed her entire fist through the panel.

“I swear that one was broken earlier.” she admitted as she turned to face the door, “WINE.” she bellowed, knowing full well that those outside would hear her, “Happy now Sekh?”

“Then they are terrible servants.” Sekhmetara laughed, the impact of the stone on her armour barely registered to the demigod as she pulled herself to her feet, dust falling from her in patterns that swirled in the air, her eyes casting around the room. “A bottle or two and I’ll have already designed you a much ‘nicer’ room to replace this one.” The Mithran primarch’s eyes narrowed on Nelchitl for a moment, the look of the huntress surpassing that of the diplomat, before she sprung into action, the full force of her impacting with Nelchitl’s own, ceramite crashing into ceramite with force that echoed through the chamber greater than all previous impacts. Nelchitl was the Emperor’s blade and held perhaps first claim among the warriors of the Emperor in martial skill, but many forgot who had first taught her to hunt among the stars.

There was no duel, no trade of weapons, but in attempting to bring Nelchitl to the ground Sekhmetara pulled no force, throwing her might into wrestling her sister down, seeking to pin her before whatever poor soul was volunteered for this duty found the wine.

In a beat of her hearts, Nelchitl found herself in a position she had not expected as her sister hit her at full force. “So rocks weren’t enough!” she laughed as she brought her armored arms around her sister’s own armored form. She fought for purchase on the destroyed floor of the room, her boots clipping over the wet steel in a trail of sparks. With a thought, she could have maglocked herself in place, stripped Sekhmetara of her momentum, but that idea would be no fun. It would be to her like Micholi, winning off technicality as he prised Nelchitl from the ring.

With a roar of laughter, the Emerald Priestess instead dug the toe of her boot into the deckplating, steel and tile peeling away like steel before a powersword. She found purchase then as her foot smashed into some sort of support beam, and with a roar lifted her sister up as she threw her own weight backward.

Sekhmetara’s laugh continued through the catastrophic violence of their wrestling, even as she was lifted backward, the Primach pausing only to brace herself for the impact before she struck the deck, the weight, and force of her form cracking through the floor with a blow that would entirely snap a human in half, let alone break their back. But for her, the delay from which she responded was negligible, her long legs reaching up to grasp Nelchitl around the waist even as her sister held on with her arms, attempting to use the strength of her lower body to flip them back around.

“Nothing is ever enough sister! That is our destiny!”

With fire in her eyes, Nelchitl scrambled to release herself from Sekhmetara’s grappling even as she barely finished slamming her demigod of a sister into the deck with bone-jarring force. She writhed as the Huntress brought her legs about her, strength and position threatening to end the match before even a half a minute had passed. But the Emerald Priestess would never throw in the towel so easily.

With Sekhmetara lifting the two of them back over, Nelchitl twisted her armored form between her sister’s grasp, her arms wrenching out to take one of Sekhmetara’s own legs tight against her chest as she spun in a death roll like that of the Crotalids of Ixhun, the armored demigod spinning and twisting far too fast for her size.

Then as the armoured forms churned upon the ground at speed beings of their scope should have found impossible, even the smoothness of their armoured forms sparked with friction and tension upon the metallic ground, the unsurmounted artifice of their plate proving far superior to the rudimentary construction of the Imperial Navy, great gouges ripped in the flooring of metal and stone.

Sekhmetara could feel her leg being pulled out of position long before it occurred, the tension of the force registering in her mind in a moment and perfectly mapping where such force would place her form. Knowing and being able to do anything about it were two rather different matters. There were a thousand and one ways to finish this fight, but most resorted to violence well beyond the nature of their sparring. She drew out the fight as much as she could, knees and fists finding weaker points in Nelchitl’s armoured form, the crushing power of her legs brought tight around her sister to the point of putting her ceramite clad form under creaking strain, but eventually, the rolling force of Nelchitl brought them to a steady halt, the Mithran primarch pinned beneath her sister, panting with strain and effort, but still a wide grin of enjoyment upon her features.

“If only your pilots flew as well as you fought sister, you’d stop crashing into the side of spaceports.” She laughed, flopping fully back on the ruined deck. “I wonder if the sound of battle has delayed the wine.”

“The wine!” Nelchitl called with a victorious laugh as she rolled away from Sekhmetara and came to stand. Offering a hand to help her sister up she swatted the air between them with the other, “My pilots fly well enough, very good at improvising too.” she joked as she relived the bone-jarring crash at the citadel above Praxia some time ago, “And you should seem them in action when there is something to kill rather than avoid.” she beamed as she gloated over her daughter’s abilities.

There was a wrap at the broken door before it began its painful opening, and though no one entered the room, two pitchers of the sweet wine Sekhmetara was so fond of were deposited just within the threshold of the room before the door closed on its tortured hinges.

“And the wine finally arrives,” Nelchitl exclaimed happily as she scooped both pitchers from the floor and pressed one into Sekhmetara’s hands.

No sooner had the wine been placed in Sekhmetara’s hand than an impressive portion of the pitcher’s contents were downed by the taller of the sisters, the graceful length of her neck somewhat less elegantly heaving with the force of her thirst before she let out a long sigh, grinning to her sister as she finished drinking, wafting the pitcher in her direction in the manner a mortal might direct a glass to bring attention.

“You missed the best part of my party, dearest one, those arrogant glory seekers, the Legio Mortis, being forced by father to kneel to me, and only me.” She snickered, sipping more conservatively, “Perhaps that was meant as some sort of jest by father or Malcador, about my own nature.” She snickered, brushing some of the debris from her armour as she struck a decidedly imperious pose, interrupted only by another gulp of wine. “Still, if their jibes earn me the greatest of the Titan Legions, I will wear them and be thankful, and bask in the bitter tears of the Cult Mechanicum.”

"No party could compare to company such as this." Nelchitl laughed as she motioned to the remainder of the destroyed chamber about them as she settled into the familiar tones of Sekhmetara's musings.

In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Rage Can Be Necessary
Captain Mayalen stood resplendent in her armor, the proud markings of the Second Company emblazoned upon her breastplate and worn in tandem with the solemn banners of mourning for all those she had lost on Arel, nearly two-fifths of her entire company. Before her were the vaulted doors to her Primarch’s private chamber and beyond it, her Scion raged. Mayalen winced as the sound of objects of near priceless value were smashed to dust and the stateroom beyond was turned into debris, all the while her Primarch screaming in the native tongue of Ixhun, though Mayalen had the sense not to listen to what was being said.

She had been at the embarkation deck when her Primarch had made her unexpected return from the Council’s deliberations for the day and rarely had she seen Nelchitl so incensed at her own allies; her own kin. Her Scion had stormed off the lander in silence, moving past the assembled honor guard with not so much as a glance in their direction. The Second Captain had sensed the deep hurt in those Serpents that had been chosen to welcome Nelchitl back to the Solstice’s End. She’d seen it in the way they held their bolters once their Scion had disappeared beyond the blast doors, in how they had walked in silence back to their arming chambers, and when they had looked upon her; their Captain; for reassurance. She had offered them each firm words of their worth, assurances that they would never have been picked were they not worth the notice of their esteemed Scion, and though today she had not taken notice of them, next time would be different.

With words that barely did justice to mend the pride of her juniors, Mayalen had made to follow Nelchitl, and had been shocked to find it nearly impossible not to know where she had gone. She had followed a trail of broken servitors and chattering Techpriests, offering the sign of the aquila and a few words of apologies to the hooded adepts as she followed the trail of holy oils and mechanical components of their destroyed machines all the way back to her Primarch’s private chambers.

Here she had stood for nearing four hours, Nelchitl’s destruction on the other side of the doors unceasing. A particularly large crash resounded from beyond the doors, the impact of whatever it was Nelchitl had destroyed reverberating through the bulkhead beneath the Second Captains’ feet and through her dampened armor.

“Is this a bad time?” came the voice of Sofia di Fabrizio from her right, Mayalen shifted slightly as she found her superhuman senses caught off guard, so lost in thought at the enraged actions of Nelchitl as she was that the Mistress of the Fleet had practically gotten on top of the Astartes. The woman stood several heads shorter than Mayalen but what she lacked in stature she made up for in sheer presence. The Mistress; a mortal; demanded respect with every word she spoke and in the very way she moved. The navy ratings joked that their Mistress had managed to tame Nelchitl, though the Serpents knew it was very much the other way around. Mayalen had long held her in high regard, her tactical and strategic knowledge in the void was immense, her ability in oratory cunning, and her skills with a blade and the artificer laspistol she kept at her waist put some of the most seasoned Auxilia to shame.

The Astartes frowned down at the Fleet Mistress as she spoke, “I’m afraid it’s certainly not the best. Mistress I’m sure you’re more in tune with the happenings at the Council than I or any of my Sisters ever could be, I pray that you know what has incensed our Lady so terribly.”

The Mistress folded her arms and took a spot leaning along the bulkhead, her gaze barely rising to meet the Astartes in front of her, “I have much to attend to for the fleet alone, and Magos Decius is throwing a fit on my bridge, going on and on about servitors and damage notices.” she waved a hand dismissively, “Do you truly think I have the time to follow the proceedings from planetside as I deal with the Martians and arrange for everything we require to move on from this Council?”

Mayalen felt her frown turning into a small smile as she watched the grin on the Mistress’s face grow, “Of course I do Mistress, who else but you could do all that and still have the time to listen in on the Council?” the Second Captain stated matter-of-factly.

“And your faith is well placed.” the mortal confirmed with a nod, “Our Primarch got into it with that culo the Tartarean. About what exactly I’m not positive, though I understand that it got heated. Not to mention that this was all in front of Him. If I had to guess I’d say she’s just as embarrassed as she is pissed in there.”

Mayalen shifted uncomfortably in her power armor, “I should have guessed as much. The Primarch of the Abyssal Lurkers has always been… divisive for lack of a better word.”

“He’s a bastard is what he is.” the Mistress stated flatly, “Though, I didn’t come here to chat about the gossip from planetside, as interesting as that may be. I have news that will only further worsen our Primarch’s mood.” she slipped a datapad from her belt and handed it to Mayalen.

The Captain consumed the data in mere moments and handed the dataslate back as she shook her head, “If only this could wait for her to calm herself.”

“Were it so easy.” the Mistress stated as she turned and pressed her command signet into the locking mechanism of the door. With a hiss the locks disengaged and the door moaned as it strained to open.

“You can stand behind me if it makes you feel any safer, Mistress.” Mayalen offered as the doors screeched open, so bent and deformed were they that the mechanisms began to sputter sparks into the hallway as they worked. Smoke began to roll out of the room beyond as the doors continued their agonizing opening, and water ran around their feet from some unseen source beyond them.

Mistress Fabrizio laughed at the offer and crossed her arms defiantly, “If the Priestess wants me dead for this news, there is not much a single Astartes can do to stop her,” she stood side by side with the Captain of the Second, “I’ll take my chance here.”

Mayalen smiled warmly at the mortal, her respect for the woman growing evermore as one of the doors came to a grinding halt before it could fully open. The two slipped through the narrow opening between the broken doors and stepped into a very different environment from what they had left on the other side.

Smoke filled the room, fed by a number of small electrical fires that licked at smashed furniture and torn draperies around the chamber. The chamber itself lay in ruin, anything that hadn’t been bolted to the deck was in pieces about the room, red warning lights flashed, overhead lights flickered and sparked in their mounts, and the low thrum of exposed power cables filled the room.

Mayalen moved her gaze about the room and took in the destruction that Nelchitl had managed with awe. Pipes hung from the ceiling, spouting water and less than healthy alternatives into the chamber, and at the far end of the room stood the cause of it all.

The Emerald Priestess was facing away from them. Stood before a massive mosaic of the Emperor, her hands outstretched at her sides and her head thrown back in forlorn disgust. Mayalen heard the Fleet Mistress gasp as her own eyes fell upon what had surprised the mortal so.

A vast scar had been torn through the image, giving the ghastly image of the Emperor cut open from hip to shoulder. By some cruel coincidence of the ancient ship’s design, the wound wept a deep red hydraulic fluid as if the Emperor himself was bleeding before them.

“My Lady.” Captain Mayalen spoke, biting back the hesitation in her voice as she continued, “We bring news.” She dropped to a knee and gently pulled the stunned Mistress Fabrizio down as well. She dared not bring her gaze up as she felt the scrutiny of the Emerald Priestess fall on her.

“Speak then, or be gone.” the Primarch spoke, her tone sending icicles into the mind of the Captain of the Second. She winced in pain at them and quickly composed herself as she kept her head low, “The Obscurus Rebellion has--”

“Obscurus Rebellion!?” Nelchitl cut off her Captain as she struck a colonnade with such force that it shattered and fell into the chamber, “OUT.” Nelchitl raged, her voice so sudden and laden with command that Mistress Fabrizio dropped the dataslate she had been holding and practically sprinted from the room. Mayalen, though Astartes, strained not to drop her helmet as she too rose and hurried from the chamber.

Mayalen turned to watch her Primarch as she once more began to rage in her chambers. Arcing electricity somewhere in the room cast long shadows through the growing smoke and the Second Captain could have sworn that she caught a glimpse of something terrible and unknowable through the glowing red smoke just before the doors shut.

“That went well.” Mistress Fabrizio stated meekly as her breath came in ragged gasps. The color in the proud admiral's face had all but gone as she steadied herself against the wall.

“We are alive.” Mayalen agreed, her enhanced metabolism flooded with combat stims from the autosensors of her armor as she reconciled with an emotion she hadn’t felt since before her ascension to Astartes. Fear.
In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 3 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
+++Classification Vermillion... Granted...+++
+++Intenal Vox Thief Transcript: ******-**-******-*********...+++
+++Circa 001.M31...+++
+++Locale: Nikaea, Council Grounds...+++
+++Records herein sealed by order of The Sigillite...+++
+++Interning Authority... Captain-General Constantin Valdor... Subvault *********-******-********-**-*-*****...+++

“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.
You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”
- Assigned to a pre-M1 Terran remembrancer, identity unknown.

Parties had never suited Nelchitl, the idea of entertaining nobles, generals, and merchants felt beneath the skills that the Emperor had given her, a waste of her innate talents. So she had avoided the party like the Bonic Plague of old. Sequestered herself away in her own private chambers as she poured over reports from Tempestus and her daughters in other far-flung corners of the Crusade. But she could only keep herself still for so long, could only read endless scrolling data points and reports so many times before she became restless. So she found herself walking the halls of the council building.

She’d left her entourage behind, a nod of authority keeping even her honor guard in their places as she had left her rooms in a black body glove and a flutter of the black cloak she wrapped around herself. Though she knew she was tricking no one with her disguise, she felt that at least acting like she did not wish to be noticed would keep the most mundane of the remembrancers and other dignitaries from approaching her. She stalked the halls, her path taking her quietly toward the location of the party that had been the talk of practically every mortal in the building since its announcement.

Electing to bypass the grand entrance she worked her way around the edges of the hall, avoiding groups of servers and guards as she looked for a more obscure entrance to get a look at what was happening within. As she came around a group of exhausted looking servers beneath the shadow of a large arch she spotted her entrance. A simple portal that servers came and went from like clockwork. She ducked from beneath the arch, drawing gasps and excited chatter as the form of a Primarch seemed to practically materialize in front of the mortals, and made her way to the door quickly.

She stepped into a kitchen busy with activity that almost immediately ceased, only the most engrossed of the chefs in their tasks continuing to go about their cooking and preparations for a heartbeat longer than the rest as Nelchitl entered into their midst.

“Continue your work.” She commanded quietly before starting to pick her way between the stunned cooks to the exit on the other side of the kitchen.

Just before the disguised figure could open the kitchen exit, the door opened. Arnulf Wode stepped through the door, his uniform jacket half off, his field cap hanging off his head at a jaunty angle. He looked tired, he looked worn out, he looked ready to collapse and sleep.

“Don’t stop for me, continue workin’.” He said to the staff, then stopped when he saw the robed figure. He woke up immediately, hand flying to the bolt pistol holstered at his hip. The robed figure was tall, around nine feet, so that meant Astartes, but why they were sneaking around the servant entrances with their identity concealed was beyond him.

“Identify yourself.” He growled, “If you’re a legionary, you got no business bein’ here. Turn around and I won’t take your name.”

Nelchitl stopped in her tracks at the sight of Wode, a small grin creeping across her lips beneath the hood as she leaned back calmly.

“Or what Brother? You’ll get your ass beat again?” she teased, her hands rising to lower her hood and reveal the grin beneath. “Though I have to say, I’m a little upset you thought me an Astartes.” she feigned hurt as she waved an enthralled cook back to his obviously burning food.

Wode’s posture turned from half-crouch to a standing slouch, his face a nonplussed grimace. He buckled the flap of his holster, securing the ivory-handled bolt pistol in its place once again.

“Ha ha. You scared the shit out of me, Nel.” He said, “What are you trying to do, exactly? Sneak -into- the party? Dressed like that? And you don’t think Sekh wouldn’t have known you were coming through this way anyways? You know how the servants blabber.”

He looked around to the staff gawking in awe at their stations, making a token effort to work but clearly enthralled by the conversation taking place. “...No offense.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.” Nelchitl replied with a shrug. She glanced over the surrounding staff, a small part of her offended that they were dallying in their duties, but the rest of her understanding just what it was they were audience to. She lifted her cloak slightly with both hands, the body glove beneath showing through the part at its center as she sighed, “I just didn’t want to be bothered, and I’d hoped to go unnoticed though,” she gestured to the cooks still entranced around them, “it was never going to work.” she admitted with a laugh.

“And you?” she raised an eyebrow as her grin grew, “What are you, Primarch of the Tenth doing leaving through the kitchens?” she ghosted in close to Wode, a predatory glint in her eyes as she moved around him, a finger tracing the cut of his shoulders as she did, “Surely you couldn’t be trying to escape unnoticed,” she tugged at his ceremonial dress, “in such clothes of all things?”

“A bodyglove to a formal dinner?” Wode retorted, his voice a half-chuckle. “That is…”

He seemed to cut off, as if consciously avoiding saying something crass. This was, in fact, exactly what he was doing, as the second half of the sentence would’ve been, ‘..decidedly feral world of you.’ He playfully shrugged Nel’s hand from his uniform, straightening out the miniscule crease she’d created with a single, smart tug.

“In any case, it’s not like I’m going to strip naked on the dance floor and stride out in my birthday suit.” He bulldozed over his clumsy pause. “It’s the dress khakis of the Pact. It’s -designed- for occasions like this. And as for why I’m leaving, it’s because parties wear me out faster in an hour than a week of cross-country in a Predator. I can’t imagine you’re much more fond of them than I. I didn’t expect to see you at all.”

“Sekhmetara would say it’s accentuating.” she teased, raising her cloak to reveal the form fitting view to Wode and several of the human cooks. “And stripping naked surely wouldn’t be the most stunning thing that has happened in that room tonight, of that I am sure with who I’ve been told is in attendance.” she added quietly just for Wode.

She reached down into a pot of some exotic sauce and took a bit on her finger, the cook at the station shrinking away from her reach as she did, “I’m sure I could tire you out much faster than that,” she said almost as an afterthought as she brought her finger up to taste the sauce, “and I can’t say I wasn’t curious of what was happening within. Things like this, they’re a once in a several lifetime event, though we don’t have that issue really.” she admitted before placing an approving pat on the cook beneath her who stumbled forward at the force of the Primarch’s hand.

Wode didn’t look away as she lifted her robes, and the view was nice, but, he wasn’t sure what to say. Nel was pretty, but, they were siblings, weren’t they? Even still he barely knew her, and they didn’t really look alike - she had the tanned skin, the lithe build of an equatorial native, and he looked like a squat, pale-skinned, blond-haired wall of a man. Were they related?

Was he overthinking? Almost certainly. He snapped back in to focus just to catch the second half of the flirt - and it was a flirt, he was certain - which made him produce a noise that was a half cough, half grunt of surprise. Again, the back foot, always the back foot with her.

Push on, that was the Pact way, he thought. He liked her attention, but, he had no idea how to respond to advances from her. “...I suppose we don’t, though I still really don’t think of myself as some… immortal demigod. I wasn’t, until Father came to get me. I mean, I guess I was but… I didn’t know, you know?”

He seemed morose at that. The prospect of outliving everyone he knew was a thought he always came back to, and it always made him feel the same way.

Her brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before she spoke, her tone light with an understanding of what Wode was feeling, “You and I, we were found so recently,” she paused as she regarded the cooks once more before continuing her thoughts, “It can be hard to take it all in.” she agreed before motioning for Wode to follow her, “Though such talk is best done where the mortals can’t hear us.” she turned to give a smile to the closest cook, “The sauce was outstanding.” she added as she lifted the comparatively small man from his feet and placed a tiny kiss on his cheek, “And no one will ever believe you.” she finished as she placed him back on his feet.

Walking from the kitchen she led Wode on through the shadows of the halls once more. He bowed for the menials and kitchen staff. One line cook was present enough mentally to whistle at the primarch, and then the others broke into a ragged cheer. The master of the 10th, for his part, simply shook his head and stalked after his sister.

“Where did you have in mind?” Wode asked, walking behind her. “...It’s not another duel, is it? Warn me if you’re gonna start throwing sword cuts again.”

Nelchitl laughed at Wode’s concern, the sound of it nearly cutting through the shadows around them as she turned down another hall, “Nothing so bad.” she assured him, “I figured we could talk this time, like normal… Primarchs?” she shrugged as they arrived at an empty room adorned with only a simple table for meetings of far less important individuals than them.

Taking up a seat on the table itself she turned to Wode, her eyes alight with curiosity as she regarded him, “You were found mere minutes before me as far as I’m concerned, and maybe I take our situation...” she refrained from the word ‘divinity’, “better than you. But I too have found it hard to adjust at times.”

With a sigh she shrugged the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall around the table at her hips, “Life was simpler once, that is for sure.” she admitted, “But now He is here to guide me. To guide us.” she finished with a conviction bordering on fanaticism.

Wode sat down in a chair, flipping it around to sit with his chest to the backrest. He looked up at Nelchitl as he spoke. “Normal Primarchs. Not sure if a thing like that exists, but sure.”

If she stared with curiosity, he looked at her with a… hard to describe expression. He seemed at once eager to speak with one of his peers at depth, but, strangely guarded. Equals had been a rarity for him even before he had been elevated as he was.

“He is here indeed.” He said as she finished. “I think about him a lot. He’s… not like anything I’ve ever seen before. To be frank, you aren’t either…”

That’d have to do as a counter-flirt, but it was weak, and he grimaced internally as he said it. “...but he’s somethin’ else. Do you really think he’s a… y’know?”

The last unspoken word being, of course, ‘god’. It wasn’t politic to say such things in Imperial society, but with just them, he figured he could broach the topic.

Her brown eyes studied her sibling as he spoke, the depths of them appearing to stare far deeper into him than should be possible. Her head tilted at the implication of his question, the ghost of a sneer almost seeming to grow across her lips before she stood suddenly, knocking over one of the small chairs around her in the process. She paced away from Wode, a hand reaching down to run along the tabletop as she came to halt some ways away from him.

“What you imply is dangerous,” she spoke quietly, eyeing the walls of the room for any obvious devices that might catch what she said next. For a moment she thought the better of it as her wish that she had worn her armor to scan for eavesdroppers consumed her mind, but the moment passed quickly as her faith overwhelmed her.

“The Emperor is a God? Is that what you mean?” the Emerald Priestess turned to face Wode, beaming as she spoke, “Of course it’s what you mean. That you have noticed it too…” she moved back to Wode, stopping just steps from him, “It fills me with joy beyond measure to know I am not alone.” she confided in him as she took up a kneeling spot before him.

“When did you know?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

Wode looked back, unflinching. Her gaze was piercing, but he was steadfast in all things, even an examination of his very soul. What was there, was there, and he wouldn’t change it for anyone. She knelt before him, and even as she spoke, he never broke eye contact.

“He creates.” Wode said, simply. “He punishes. He guides. And he knows.”

He reached underneath his collar, pulling forth a small, silver chain. On it was the Catheric cross, the faith of the old days, the dark times. “This is from Salient. I never really believed, but, we all had to… pretend. At least in the merchant house I served. Years of war, I didn’t believe anything like a god existed anywhere, and then…”

He tucked the cross back under his shirt. “And then Father came, and I learned I was one of his angels. Not one of the compassionate ones, either, I’m one of the ones with a sword of light and wings of fire. What else makes sense? Are we seriously even going to consider that he’s just… what? A man? Like I thought I was?”

He shook his head. “No. No no no. It doesn’t make sense.”

Her eyes followed Wode’s hand as he pulled out a small symbol of some faith she wasn’t familiar with, though the implication that it now held their Father as its patron was obvious from the reverence he handled it with.

“You and I, Wode, are so very similar.” she spoke quietly, her own hands moving to unzip the front of her body glove. Pulling it down she exposed the brand between her chest. A simple thing, burned into her skin, what felt like an eternity ago on Ixhun. A depiction of the sun in all its glory, rays spreading across her chest in spirals.

“It never healed,” she began as she closed her glove once more, “burned into me by the Priests of Ixhun, focus mirrors took His light and etched this forever into me.” she touched her chest with reverence before bringing her gaze back to Wode. “His power has kept it there, for all these years. I bleed from foul xenos blades, rend flesh from the sting of their weapons, and it all heals. Yet this icon has remained.” she stated in awe as she clutched at it.

“To bring about His vision is our purpose, however that must be done.” she shook her head and motioned vaguely back in the direction of the party, “Sekhmetara, Daena, and the others, they are fine instruments. Worked from silver and gold to carry out His most delicate of plans, the diplomacy, and empire-building that He so requires. But us Wode,” she rose, taking his hand as she did bringing him to his feet with her, a smooth kick of her leg removing the chair from between them as she ushered him up.

“We were wrought from iron Brother. From steel and blood. We bring about His vision when the finer instruments are useless. I hold that we are the most necessary, despite what you may think. For what our other siblings see as needless slaughter or wasteful expense… We see as necessity.” she smiled, faith burning in her eyes, “His will is always necessary, no matter what the others may seem to think of how it is achieved.”

Although he didn’t touch it, Wode could feel only warmth from Nel’s brand, as if there was a sun inside of her, radiating heat from her marred skin. She was right. They were similar, despite their appearances, two blades forged from the same alloy, even the same chunk of ore. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Something in him calmed as she spoke. He felt right, for the first time since he’d left Salient.

When she picked him up, he’d let her, and he’d opened his eyes to hers, icy blue meeting warm brown. Fire burned in hers, and in his, ice. She smiled, and he did as well.

“In the far future…” He said, his voice soft, “There is only war. And without us, we’d all have to be warriors. Humanity would never paint another picture, never write another song, never cradle another child. Drowned in blood and the laughter of thirsting gods.”

He grabbed her biceps, firm, and pressed his forehead to hers, just like when they’d dueled in that training room. “We cannot let that happen. We -must- give humanity the stars.”

“No other Gods, only monsters.” she insisted as Wode came in close, a brief thought of Isabis’ dire warning startling her as it flashed through her mind, a hint of unexpected panic filling her eyes for the briefest of seconds, “Monsters we will remove.”

She brought her head back from his, a smile still gracing her features, “And Humanity will have them. Of that I am certain, because He is certain of it.” she brought an arm up, if not somewhat awkwardly as Wode held onto her, and cupped the side of Wode’s gnarled face, “You and I, and those we can trust with such confidence,” her smile shortened slightly, a serious edge creeping into her voice as she spoke, “will ensure that outcome.”

He let go of her, stepping back and nodding his head. He was trying to calm a fire in his chest that wouldn’t go out, and standing that close to the Emerald Priestess wasn’t helping. He cleared his throat.

“I’m glad. I’m glad I’m…” He tilted his head up, chin held high. “Not alone. I won’t say anything of what we spoke of here, of course. That’s secret.”

“He would never allow us to wallow alone with such heavy knowledge as ours.” she affirmed to Wode with a smile, the faithful Emerald Priestess once more returned as she replied, “A secret that will one day become fact. This meeting, and our beliefs, will one day roam the Imperium, Wode. They will move humanity to the greatest heights achievable. One day, not far from now, we shall give them the stars, and a God will come with them.” her voice was filled with emotion as she motioned to to the sky above, some unseen mechanism of internal timers lighting an array of lights in the wall behind her as the council building’s chronometers struck some predetermined twilight hour.

Tears struck him then. Emotion welled up within him as he witnessed her faith, pure and true. They ran down his face, tracing the scars and crags before dropping onto his uniform or the floor, some baptism of this space, rivulets of water from a melting iceberg. This visage, stoic, but moved, would be immortalized thousands of years from now, the Sun Priestess on the right, The Saint of Men on the left, their names even forgotten on some worlds, but for now, it was two siblings, two humans, two angels making a solemn promise to one another, free of guile or machination.

In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 3 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
An Angel's Lament
Sekhmetara's State Room
Nikaea


The private chamber Sekhmetara had claimed for the purposes of the Council was chosen for its facing, receiving the greatest amount of natural light from the warm Sun of Nikaea’s sky. Large windows looked out over the terraformed world, taking in the great work of the Mechanicum in terraforming the world in preparation for the council itself. While it was no permanent abode, the trappings of the Primach’s stay were already clear. In place of the desk that some may favour, the chamber was dominated by a low table surrounded by seating for both the Primarch herself and any guests or important staff she wished to confer with. Each wall had been decorated with a banner associated with the Primarch, the Tears of Dawn themselves, but also of Mithra and House Khafre, the former holding pride of place in its positioning over the sun-facing windows.

"Out."

For Sekhmetara to be so bluntly direct with those serving her was unusual, but not so alien that her words were not immediately heeded, the spattering of administrative staff, diplomatic aids, and remembrancers who had only just finished setting up their stations within the room rising to leave the moment it became apparent the Primarch of the Tears of Dawn was quite serious. The only one who delayed, the Primarch's own sister by adoption, still rose immediately to her feet, her eyes wide as she regarded Sekhmetara.

"Is...is it true, did Lord Sarghaul really-" The look Sekhmetara's eyes gave her sister only deepened the look of shock, compounded by the vision of Daena following Sekhmetara a short way behind.

"My lady Daena, I am so sorry to hear, I do hope you know that across all the stars you are as admired as any of the sons and daughters of our noble Emperor." Isabis curtsied low before the winged Primarch, bowing her head as she did so. The display of deference from her Mithran sister softened Sekhmetara's expression somewhat, but still, the darker-skinned Primarch waved Isabis away.

"Kind words, Beloved-of-my-heart, but we must confer on the matter in private. Do not stray far, I will have need of you and your order soon."

"Of course, sister-most-loved." Isabis made the sign of the Aquila to them both, although the fingers of her hands splayed ever more slightly than was traditional of the motion before she swept out of the room. The Mithran noblewoman had almost as much dramatic poise as her Primarch sister, and the shimmering gold of her gown flourished around her as she did so.

Only when they were alone did Sekhmetara finally turn to Daena herself, sweeping her into an embrace, her arms holding her sister in such a way as to not tangle with her wings.

"Lies and falsehoods, of the worst kind." She breathed to her in a whisper, her touch gentle and affectionate, yet her tone quivering with second-hand rage for her sister.

Daena strode to the room with her daughters at her side, the robed women she had entered the Council chamber swiftly joined by armored Praetors as soon as they were out of sight of the horde of Remembrancers. Where their Primarch wore the perfectly still face that was her calling card, the Doomsayers had murder in their eyes, the Astartes encircling their gene-mother as they walked. Approaching their destination, her escort formed a none too subtle cordon about the entrance, those unarmored swiftly departing to correct that state of affairs.

Alone with Sekhmetara and her adopted sister, the Angel spoke for the first time since their gene-brother had defamed her. “My thanks, Isabis. You have always been most kind,” Daena said in a monotone, the woman permitting no emotion to taint her mind. Not yet. And then Isabis was gone, and they were truly alone with only the soft comfort of Sekhmetara’s touch. One by one she loosened the restraints upon her own mind, the divinity permitting herself to become human.

“Why?” she whispered, angelic frame collapsing against the far taller Primarch. The life drained out of her as the need for the act was finally removed, Daena’s irisless eyes staring up Sekhmetara’s with as much confusion as anything else, the woman still reeling at the fact that such had been said at all.

“Some of our brothers are weapons, nothing more. They were built to hurt, and nothing in their lives has taught them anything else.” Sekhmetara spoke gently to her sister, one hand reaching up to hold the back of her head, the barest stroking motion across her platinum hair. “But what we can understand, we do not have to excuse.” She spoke with greater fierceness, holding Daena for a few moments longer, before breaking away, moving to sit upon one of the present recliners, pouring a steaming Mithran tea into two cups, placing one towards Daena. “Wine can wait for now.” She spoke almost with regret, before leaning back and taking a sip of her drink.

“If it means much to you, it is likely such an outburst has hurt their cause more than it could ever hurt you. I do not have the enthusiasm for the Edict that you or dear Micholi possess, but I will not support the arguments against you for as long as they stand by those words.” Sekhmetara mused aloud. Through her two favoured sisters she effectively played both sides of the debate, but allowing either of them to suffer personal attacks threatened that careful balance, even to ignore the true emotion she now held for her winged sister. She would not have it said that Sekhmetara of House Khafre did not stand in protection of her family, even from itself.

“When you next walk out of this chamber you will do so with as much pride in yourself as any scion of our Father, which, firstly, we must get you out of these...robes.” Sekhmetara eyed her sister with something approaching disdain, although it was clearly directed to the grey material rather than her person. “You and our brother might play at being Administrators, but we are not. We are the Champions of the Emperor’s vision, and we should certainly look the part.” The Mithran primarch sipped her tea as she finished speaking, her eyes still watching Daena over the rim.

The Emperor’s Angel resembled more of a doll in those moments, Daena permitting her sister to move her to a seat as her mind grappled with the sheer surrealness of what had transpired. “We were made to be the height of mankind, not merely in might, but in nobility as well,” she murmured as she picked up her cup. “At least, so I was told,” she finished in an even quieter voice before taking a slow sip.

Sekhmetara’s latter comments seemed to take her off guard, the woman nearly spilling her tea as she realized just what her sister meant. “It seemed… fitting,” she said, defensively, though an analytical portion of her mind could not help but be grateful for the distraction. “This is no council of war, my armor would be out of place,” she said, only sounding half convinced herself as both knew what she wasn’t saying.

Through a combination of her sister’s silent gaze, and her own racing mind, the truth eventually came out. “I did not wish to draw attention to myself,” she admitted. “With that plan ruined however... Well, you’ve already seen most of the wardrobe I’m willing to wear in our Father’s halls. I do not think Irkallan fashion will have the effect you seem to desire for me,” Daena went on, anxiety flowing away as she let her thoughts wander. “What do you suggest?”

"That is how we were made, sister, but the circumstances of our upbringing were taken out of the hands of our father. It is not what we have all been raised for." Sekhmetara spoke with an almost mournful tone as she addressed her sister's recollection of the purpose of their creation, interposed the conversation with a sip of her own drink, before her eyes leveled at Daena once more.

"You are a daughter of the Emperor, sister. Even among other scions of his blood, you will draw attention wherever you go. Better to look the part while doing so than disappointing." The porcelain cup of her drink was set down before she continued, her palms settling in her lap across the shimmering feathers of her skirts. "I have heard much about the fashions of your homeworld, and while I find the matter fascinating and you will have to provide me a comprehensive study of them, for now, a skilled tailor of wider Imperial culture will do. Any will leap at the chance to dress one of the Emperor’s children for this event." Sekhmetara spoke with the surety of someone who had just experienced this reality. "We are champions in peace as much as we are in war, the galaxy will see that you bring far more to our conclave than a brute dragged out of the ocean in a lobster trap."

Nelchitl, with dried blood and bruises blooming over her face and fists and her body glove torn in several places, rounded the corner into the main hall that led to Sekhmetara’s chambers. Unsurprisingly, she found herself coming face to face with a formidable blockade of Doomsayer Praetors just before the doors. Her face was set in a grim scowl as she walked to them, waving a single hand for them to shift their wall out of the Primarchs' way. Her scowl only grew as she found that the wall of Praetors remained stalwart in their position. “Make way Nieces.” Nelchitl spoke bitterly as she kept her stride for the door.

Inside the chamber Daena let out a peal of laughter at her sister’s comment on Irkallan fashion, the stoic face she had worn finally melting fully away. Taking a far more confident drink, she slowly turned her head from side to side, reflecting upon Sekhmetara’s words - and the grim task which they were about to embark upon. “You know,” she said, fingers tapping against the side of her cup with a mischievous smile, “It was one of father’s tailors who was the last to see me garbed in such a hideous heathen manner,” she confided, pitching her voice down in imitation of the man.

“He made my dress. The one I wore that night above Praxia, with you and Nelchitl.” The thought of her sister caused her smile to fall, the demigoddess sighing as her gaze flickered down to her tea. “Yes, perhaps more outfits are in order.”

Without, Daena’s bodyguards remained resolute in refusing entry to that same sister as they silently stared her down. But the rage in their eyes was clearly torn, each woman there having fought and bled and killed alongside Nelchitl on 20-63. Among their number included those in whom their mother’s gene-gift had given them her very face, and the confused anger, the sense of betrayal, was strongest upon them.

Before emotion caused any to speak in haste to the Primarch, the sound of power-armored feet rang throughout the marble halls as the robed Astartes returned, now garbed for war. At their head was the Praetor Primus, Asha, the Irkallan looking at Nelchitl cooly. Trailing behind were a pair of short, silent retainers, children perhaps, garbed from head to toe in all-encompassing robes and each clutching a spear far taller than themselves. The gleaming truesilver lengths could be none other than Asha and Daena’s own arms, weapons designed to overawe as much as kill.

“For what purpose would Lady Nelchitl speak with our beloved mother and her most loyal sister?” Asha asked in a measured voice, speaking with formality well and beyond what they had become accustomed to in the fires of war. But this was a different sort of battleground, and it was clear the Doomsayers doubted that the Serpents of the Sun were among their allies upon it.

Nelchitl came to a halt as the strange reality of what was taking place finally dawned on her mind. Astartes were denying her order. She was about to speak again when the power-armored form of the Praetor Primus of the Doomsayers arrived. Nelchitl felt it best she not dress down the legionaries of another Primarch in public and was silently relieved to have Asha arrive to command her Praetors to part. Only she didn’t.

Nelchitl, blood still boiling from her bout with Micholi, turned to Asha, “You dare to imply I stand against your Scion?” she asked incredulously, heat growing in her as she continued, “Part now, or learn how little your armor and weapons mean Asha.” she stated with embers burning in her eyes. It was true she had been in agreement with Sarghaul over the Edict, but for any to assume that meant she agreed with what he had said of her dear sister was nothing short of seditious.

Asha io Qaphsiel quickly took Nelchitl’s measure, the young Astartes maintaining her gaze. “It is our duty to protect our mother from all harm. We have failed once already today,” she replied, unable to keep the bitter disappointment and smoldering resentment she felt out of her voice. “Already there are whispers, rumors. Only Sekhmetara gave her comfort leaving the hall,” she continued, her voice trailing off and her gaze finally faltering at her last words. “She is wounded far deeper than she will admit,” the Praetor admitted in a quieter voice, even as she gestured at her subordinates to finally make way for the Primarch.

Angry as she was that she had even been considered in league with Sarghaul over his words, Nelchitl’s anger melted away as her niece laid bare her thoughts before her. Reaching out, Nelchitl placed a bloodied hand on Asha’s pauldron as she gave her a small smile, “My heart aches that I was not able to be with your Scion immediately Praetor. I had another matter to attend to, but I knew your Aunt would be more than enough until I was once more free.” she spoke only loud enough for Asha to hear.

The Emerald Priestess’ smile grew wider, more sincere as she lifted her head to regard each of her sister’s chosen elite. Her voice became audible to all around her even though it remained in hushed and intimate tones, “The Emperor’s blessing is upon your mother. Of this I do not doubt. She is wise and gifted beyond all of the Emperor’s children.” she hesitated a moment before continuing, “And she is strong. Far stronger than even I. These gifts she has been given by Him for a purpose beyond understanding are proof of it. Your Scion will return far stronger than any could have imagined after the Tartarean’s shame today.” she smiled upon her nieces, a single hand gently tracing Asha’s cheek as she spoke even softer than before to all of the Doomsayers before her.

“You have failed no one today Praetors, so lift your heads, find strength in the purpose that He has given us all.” the Emerald Priestess comforted them as she lifted Asha’s gaze to meet her own, her seemingly gentle grip locking Asha’s face between her thumb and forefinger, “Never will I allow you to be so defeated in my presence again. Make it so Praetor Primus Qaphsiel.” she finished privately between herself and Asha.

The confusion and shame that had marred the faces of Daena’s bodyguards were erased in an instant, the women straightening with both newfound pride and relief that Nelchitl was as fast an ally on Nikaea as Praxia. All of them, at least, save for Asha. With the last whispered words from the Primarch ringing in her ears, the Praetor Primus responded with a curt nod to what was unsaid in Nelchitl’s words. Turning to regard her soldiers, she spoke with renewed vigor in her voice. “Lady Nelchitl speaks true. No Tartarean Lord is our judge, and we shall not glorify him by holding any weight in his condemnations. Who is the final judgment?” the Irkallan Marine finished, bellowing the challenge to the Legion’s old Terran cry.

“We are the final judgment!” rang throughout the hall, Daena’s daughters flush with pride as their furor was focused by their commander.

“Our mother would be gladdened to see you,” Asha said, turning once more to face Nelchitl.

As the matter outside the meeting room reached its crescendo, one of the armoured forms of Sekhmetara’s guards approached the primarchs within. While still gene enhanced and taller than a standard human, they entirely lacked the out-of-proportion build of the Astartes, their armour a hazel brown accented by the flowing orange of Mithra. The being, still helmed, bowed their head respectfully to both Sekhmetara and Daena, before speaking.

“Ezulkiyo, Lady Nelchitl seeks entry.” Addressed to Sekmetara, the unfamiliar title held little mystery as Sekhmetara nodded and smiled in turn.

“Of course, she is always welcome.” The Mithran primarch turned her features to regard Daena before the armoured figure had even moved, swiftly striding to inform the other daughter of the Emperor of her permission to enter, not that she had ever required such.

“We are greater than our differences, that is the true strength we have over the rest.” Sekmetara’s words were kind but forceful, seeking to ground Daena in the same thought.

Nelchitl released the Praetor from her grasp with a smile as the woman took to the business of fixing their damaged pride. Without a word she stood before the assembled Doomsayers as they found the sun’s fire in their hearts, as they embraced the strength that had always been there. “I am proud to call you my Niece.” she said softly to Asha. With a turn, Nelchitl left the Praetor Primus’ side and met the approaching Mithran guard.

Nelchitl nodded to the guard as he approached, “Emehlweni elanga, Qhawe” she greeted in practically perfect Mithran as she strode past the bowed form of the genehanced guard and through the doors from which he had exited the room.

She took in the sight of her two sisters, one sanguine and resplendent where she stood, the other drab and timid. She felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t spoken up after Sarghaul’s words, but she pressed the emotion away as she quickly crossed to Daena. Hands raised toward her sister and smiling, Nelchitl took her into an embrace.

“Of all the things I had thought could cause divide…” she started before pulling her sister into a near crushing embrace, “the Tartarean was never an option. I do not stand with his words, this I pray you realize Sister.” Nelchitl released Daena from her embrace, taking her firmly by the shoulders and keeping her at a comfortable distance, “I brought such hurt upon you, and for that I am sorry.” she finished, her tone sincere.

Daena gave Sekhmetara a nod as she took in her words, the Primarch making ready to greet their youngest sister. Yet even still, she was unprepared for the sudden crush as Nelchitl held her close, standing still in shock for a moment before returning the hug. Confusion was writ upon her face as they released one another until realization dawned upon her. “No, it is I who must apologize. My daughters distrusted you, did they not? Forgive them sister, and me. They are overly protective of me,” she said, but the Emerald Priestess had known the Angel long enough to be able to recognize when her sister was hiding her emotions behind her all too perfect visage. And then the moment passed as she looked her sister’s wounds over and then let out a deep sigh.

“Please tell me Micholi is still alive.”

Nelchitl’s smile grew wider as Daena asked of Micholi, “He sees half as well as before I started with him. But he still draws breath.” she proclaimed boastfully before her smile once more withdrew from her features, “But it is not me that I am here for, or our dear Brother Micholi. You hold back Daena, speak true.” she pleaded far softer than her earlier boasting.

The damage, physical or otherwise, that Nelchitl had done would have to wait - Daena somehow doubted her impetuous sister was in the mood to reflect on it at the moment regardless. Even the restrained woman would find it difficult under the best of circumstances to ignore such a plea, and these were far from the best. “Perhaps my daughters are more attuned to my moods than I would like to think,” she slowly admitted, sitting herself down beside her tea and gesturing for Nelchitl to join her.

“It is not the insult itself that stings,” she explained, gaze flicking from Nelchitl to Sekhmetara. “It is the who and the where and the why. We are be- we are meant to be better than this. But we clearly aren’t. And that fills me with the same fear I felt all those months ago, on the Ultis-Solis. Something is… wrong. Rotten.”

Sekhmetara allowed her sisters to discuss matters without interruption, watching the pair with no input of her own other than a few notes of laughter at Nelchitl’s humour over her recent brawl. Daena’s final words, however, drew her attention and could not be left to hang in the air, Sekmetara leaning forwards as she made to speak.

“Some of us, perhaps, dear sister, but we do not all do….strange things, to our own gene-children, nor attack our siblings when we should be trying to unify our father’s domain.” While her tone was still calm and considerate of Daena’s emotional state, there was something of an edge to her words now, as if something foul had occurred near to her that she couldn’t reference directly. “The matter will be addressed, and our father will, we hope, finally deal with his errant son properly.”

Nelchitl followed her sister to the cushions and listened as she spoke. Concern adding itself to her eyes as Daena spoke of her own misgivings.

“We bicker and we disagree. We fight with each other, we take eyes and call the others vile names and traitorous oafs.” Nelchitl paused as she realized just how much of what had happened was likely her fault, “But we are siblings, kith and kin. We will correct our paths as He demands it.”

She sighed and continued, “Daena we have gone over this once and I’ll do it again if I must. Your visions are nothing more than possibility, and I intend to cast these possibilities aside.” she stated seriously, “The Tartarean is an… abnormality… a necessary part of our Father’s plan. He is but a single pawn as you or I.” she shrugged and turned to Sekhmetara, “When the time is right, if our Father deems it so, I will correct his existence.” she finished easily, the idea of killing one of her siblings on the Emperor’s word came so naturally, it didn’t even give the Emerald Priestess a moment of hesitation.

Daena’s face warred with itself as she struggled to find the words for her fears without offending their youngest sister, the Primarch steadying her nerves by taking another sip of tea. “We, all of us, have already deviated from his plan. Swept away across the galaxy as mere babes, stolen from our cribs. Our Father’s plan has been broken for centuries now, and I wonder if it is beyond even his ability to repair. And do not think that this is due to my visions, sisters. I have seen the houses he made for us upon Terra, the homes in which we were to grow. Nothing has gone as intended.”

“Perhaps some of us are worse, but I believe others of us are greater for it,” Sekhmetara responded, sipping her tea with the sudden desire that she had selected wine from the outset. “It may well be a task too great for any one person to rectify, but our father is not alone, those of us who have risen higher than we could have done so in his shadow on Terra must now rise greater still, lifting our siblings with us where we can, and excising the rot when we cannot.” Much in a similar tone to Nelchitl, if perhaps lacking the overtly violent tone, Sekhmetara spoke her words with unquestioned belief and no hesitation, a slight sense of heat rising from her eyes as her innate gifts began to let themselves be known. “Do not fear, sister, all is not lost, the mountain is steepest before the summit, but we will forge the future together.”

Nelchitl sat and listened as Daena spoke. Some deep part of her ached at the missed chance to step upon Terra and wanted to agree with her sister that, perhaps, they had been too far scattered for Him to correct. But the rest of her wouldn’t have it. A fire built in her belly as she listened to the dejected conjecture of the Emperor’s Angel, the intervention of Sekhmetara the only thing keeping the Emerald Priestess from causing a second tragedy in the presence of the Angel.

“He knows what must be done. He has gathered us all, taught us the ways of war, armed us with knowledge of all there is. That we were once set wrong, we are now corrected. And if there are any that require further correction, He is aware of it no doubt.” The Emerald Priestess leaned forward and took Daena’s hands in her own, “Have faith in His plan sister.” she urged, the conviction in her words mirrored by the hope in her dark eyes.

Daena had seemed comforted, if not entirely convinced, by Sekhmetara’s voice, settling down to drink her tea with an expression which if it was not happy was at least not distraught. And then Nelchitl spoke, realization dawning upon the Primarch as she gazed upon the warrior. Her doubts seemed to vanish at a stroke, her pale empty eyes meeting the Serpent’s own. “Twenty of us were made, each with their own purpose,” she said, echoing the words that the strange mortal she had ushered into the Council chambers had uttered. “You are correct, of course, the both of you, forgive me for ever losing hope,” the Angel said even as she placed her cup down and clasped the Emerald Priestess’ hands in her own. “But what I would have given for you to have been found all the sooner,” she whispered, equal parts prayer, lament, and curse.
In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 3 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The XVIIth Legion
Alercona Bluffs, Delos Hive Outerlimits - Praxia

Though tradition called for the ascension of Neophytes to take place on the highest point available, Nelchitl had taken her own personal liberties this time around. She relinquished that perhaps her sisters’ flair for the dramatic had swayed her decision as she took in the vista before her from the altar at which she stood.

Directly in front of the altar stood two hundred and thirty-seven Neophytes, replacements all of them, were arranged in the form of one of the great Serpents of Ixhun, jaw agape as if to strike. They were clad in the armor of fully-fledged Astartes, though they wore no helmets and possessed no markings to denote company or position. She gazed upon them each in turn as she stood at the raised dais and watched as pride and admiration swelled in their faces at the personal recognition from their Scion. Directly to her right, arranged in neat formation sat an identical number of Astartes helmets. The helmets themselves were separated by color, with cyan the standard color of all the rank-and-file within the Serpents making up the majority of those helmets arranged before her. As she moved her eyes over the helmets she frowned as she picked out a group of some twenty white helmets marked by the office of the Apothecarium. As she moved to the final helmets in the formation she stopped on the two that stood separate to their peers, a pair of completely white helmets, the sign of a Serpent veteran standing silent command over the rest of the helmets arranged behind them.

She smiled as she recalled the intense argument that had taken place between her Company Commanders over which of the Neophytes had truly earned such an honor on Praxia as to be inducted into the First Company at their ascension ceremony. Though she had always planned to differ to the judgment of her First and Second Captains, Nelchitl had gained a good amount of enjoyment from her commanders' exasperation at their Scions seeming inability to decide on the most deserving Neophytes.

The wind shifted atop the Alercona Bluffs, a cold wind pushing in from the East prompted the Primarchs gaze to shift to the view behind her. Delos Hive lay in the distance, vast swathes of the urban sprawl lay in ruin, pillars of smoke still streaming high into the atmosphere, and uncontrolled fires consuming entire districts even as the war came to its close. That this, the cost of their rebellion, was the last thing that these traitors would see before they gave themselves to the Emperor in repentance was something of poetry in motion. Nelchitl wondered if she should have invited her sisters if only so they could witness the theatrics she had managed here.

Turning to face the line of traitors before the altar Nelchitl moved quietly to its stone edifice, running her fingers along its rough-hewn surface at a deliberate pace. Her fingers brushed over the ritual blade that had been laid out at the center of the altar and curled around it. Raising it toward the city she began a slow chant of devotion to the sun, a simple prayer of her homeworld, meant to signal the rising of the light and the outset of a new day. As she spoke in hushed tones, rays of light began to spring forth from beyond its skyline. With the final words of the prayer, the Praxian sun crested the city's outline, casting it in long shadows where the light met the mile-high pillars of smoke and washing large portions of the rest of the city in the warm glow of sunlight.

She turned to the first traitor in line, the man's face racked with terror as he stared upon Nelchitl. “Come.” she spoke softly, barely audible to those around her and yet the man stepped forward, the Primarchs words an irresistible command to the mere mortal.

With a single hand, she grabbed the man by his neck lifting the traitor from his feet, his eyes wandered past Nelchitl’s form as she raised him up no doubt to take in the view of Delos Hive bathed in the light of the very being he had betrayed.

With a slow reverence, the Emerald Priestess brought the ritual dagger up, silently slipping it under the man's ribs with little more than a surprised gasp as reaction. Warmblood ran down the blade and onto Nelchitl’s arm, quickly turning her bare chest and the only item of clothing she wore, a traditional off-white cueitl of Ixhun’s Priesthood of the Sun, a deep red.

With a twist of the blade, the Emerald Priestess opened the traitor's chest wide before dropping him onto the altar. Leaving the blade lodged in the man she reached both hands into the pooling blood within him. She looked upon her daughters as her hands remained immersed in the fading life of the man before her and locked eyes with the first Neophyte among their ranks. With little more than a nod, the Neophyte stepped confidently to the altar, dropping to a knee before her Primarch. The Neophyte raised her eyes to look directly into her Scion’s, and with calm piety, she spoke.

“Let the Sun rise upon this day my Lord.”

“He smiles upon it.” the Emerald Priestess responded as she gazed lovingly across her assembled daughters, each of their faces bathed in the warmth of the sun from behind her shoulder.

“By your command, I stand your servant.” the Neophyte continued with a hint of apprehension in her words. The Emerald Priestess felt affection rise in her chest as she looked upon the Neophyte in understanding her anxiety at being first among her peers.

The Emerald Priestess nodded and the Neophyte rose slowly to her full height.

“By my command, you rise His servant.” the Emerald Priestess paused as she took the heart of the traitor from within him and held it out for the Neophyte before her, “You rise Astartes.” she intoned privately, only loud enough for the daughter before her.

Without hesitation Sister Yaretzi took the heart from the Emerald Priestess and began to devour it. At the same time, Nelchitl stepped slowly around her daughter, her hands dripping in gore as she painted the company numbers and position markings on Yaretzi’s armor as her daughter ate. Giving the markings a once over and satisfied with the job, Nelchitl stepped back to her original position and gave a nod to her daughter.

The Serpent stepped away and toward the formation of helmets stopping at the head of the formation. Nelchitl watched with a smile as her daughter knelt down and picked up a white helmet and sealed it to her armor, taking the place of the helmet in at the head of the arranged formation.

She turned once more to the Neophytes and the line of traitors before her, “Come.” she repeated.

In Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera) → 3 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I remember joining your iteration of this on Iwaku in 2014, though it didn't last long it was very impactful on the sort of RPs I've pursued since. How are you looking on slots here?
In The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP → 3 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Central Spire
Delos Hive, 20-63 [Praxia]

The death wrought throughout the final bastion of traitorous resistance within Delos Hive was astounding. Her daughters lay in scores, crumpled and unmoving, with the number of Imperial Army surrounding them far more than Nelchitl was comfortable counting. The numbers crunched in the mind of the Emerald Priestess were nearly enough to dampen her mood as she stormed forward in a flurry of death at those traitors fool enough to meet a Primarch in direct combat. She swung her massive chainsword in a sweeping ark in front of her, eviscerating a cohort of armored humans in the strange power armor that many of them further into the final hive spire were equipped with. She revved the chainsword, its teeth spinning wildly as she did, freeing bits of armor and flesh alike as she finished the math in her mind and despaired at the losses her Daughters and the human Auxilia must be suffering storming the last sanctum in the hive.

Her vox crackled into life, filling her helmet with the distorted voice of a man in the midst of combat. “The 250th is halted in--” the transmission was drowned out by the sounds of massed gunfire and a sizable explosion that Nelchitl could feel through the soles of her armor, “--assistance required urgentl--” the transmission cut completely and the Primarch found her already burning rage stoked further at the thought of the Emperor’s chosen in such desperate need.

“Communications, get me the last station's location. Send me the 31st Company at all haste, and reroute the nearest Exertus forces to assist at once.”

There was a curt response and a data burst quickly streamed into the Emerald Priestess’ helmet.

Nelchitl felt an unusual emotion welling in her chest as anxiety began to grip her. She continued to fight, felling groups of the armored traitors in flashes of plasma and brutal strikes of her chainsword. All the while she brooded on the happenings about this world. Her daughters were heavily engaged at every turn, House Cadaval; lauded and venerable; had lost several of their exalted machines, and there seemed no end to the engagement as the Imperial forces inched forward into the traitors bleeding for every step. Their numbers were great, their equipment advanced and unknown even to the Tech Priests of Mars, their tactics seemingly hand-tailored to counter the armored shock tactics of the Emperor’s Angels. The depth of betrayal on 20-63, on Praxia, was beyond the scope that Nelchitl had ever thought possible in her Emperor’s Imperium.

There was far more going on here than so seemed. She required answers, she required more forces; more ships, more equipment, and more men. She crunched the numbers and silently relished in the short releases of violence as she tore her way forward. More than anything, she required the guidance of her Sister.

Opening a private vox line directly to the Huntress. Nelchitl spoke quickly, the frustration in her voice evident, “Sister, we must end this at once. We take far too many losses, my committed companies are becoming no more than tatters. I fear your daughters fare much the same.” a coded data-burst would be sent between the two Primarchs containing the position of the Exertus regiment as she continued on, “I move to assist an Exertus regiment and have vectored more forces to assist, join me and we shall finish this in one final stroke.”

As her sister’s voice reached her, Sekhmetara rode the winds of rage. She allowed the emotion to surge through just as much as she drifted across the air herself, the modified chassis of her jetbike roaring beneath her as she regarded the vast battlefield of the traitor hive below her, drawing closer to the towering central spire which comprised their final objective. They had won every battle, yet they were losing the war. Losing because there was information and factors they were not privy to, a state of affairs that enraged her more than anything else. Her daughters were the fine blade, measure twice, cut once. Now they were swinging wildly in the dark. Still, her daughters may have been precise by the standards of her expansive, varied family, but they were still Astartes. For every one which died, the rebels bled in their hundreds. It was not a trade she would allow to continue.

“As you say Sister, I fight with you.” Sekhmetara replied, before she lunged from the saddle of her vehicle. From the streamlined armour of her suit, blade like wings extended, a series of grav-chutes of much larger design to account for her Primach build, the Queen of Mithra surged through the air, tucking her form into itself as she crossed the distance to the spire. Her form struck the observation glass panel she was aiming for with the force to turn an Astartes into a smear, but likewise enough to shatter the reinforced glass. She was not Astartes, and her armoured form wrenched through it, barely checking her momentum. She was falling, but to those within, she was akin to an avenging angel falling from the heavens themselves, surging into the vast chamber beyond. The enemy were rallying to engage her sister’s position within the same hall, they would never get the chance. The Huntress fell among them, the long, slender haft of her glaive spinning about her in a movement that was as much a dance as it was warfare. With every slight turn of her body and weapon, lesser humans died. The mysterious power armour the more elite rebels wore could turn aside bolter fire, but it could not turn aside her. Her weapon sliced through Ceramite with the barest pop of pressure, the human within each suit turned to jelly by the sudden expansion of force and heat. Her sister killed as well, perhaps with less grace, but with insurmountable aggression which more than made up for their difference in efficiency of movement. Two whirlwinds of death storming towards each other. The final foe sought to hold her in combat for a moment, a figure which would have towered over a mortal man wreathed in armour more akin to the tactical dreadnought armour spreading throughout the legions. Flensing claws wreathed from gauntlets as the being yelled a challenge to her.

She did not have the time or will for a duel with mortal traitors. As the human began his charge, a blazing halo of solar light bathed around her features, her human-like eyes becoming obscured by golden light, before the power leapt from her. The gifts of her birth made manifest, the streams of white hot energy forced into reality burned through the air, striking the traitor with enough force and heat as to render them into cauterised flesh and ash in moments. Sekhmetara did not suppress the sneer as she regarded what had become of an enemy that had thought themselves worth more than the briefest moment of her time, before turning to regard her approaching sister.

“My daughters will keep them from reinforcing the holdout, we cut off the head here.”

Were it any other day, any other war, Nelchitl may have found herself incredibly moved by the preternatural resemblance her Sister held to the Emperor on that fateful battlefield of Ixhun where they first met. Descending from the heavens as if held aloft by unseen wings, Sekhmetara unleashed a dazzlingly brilliant psychic assault on a mere mortal fool enough to stand in the way of the furious Primarch. Like the appearance of her father, Nelchitl watched as the radiance of a star was unleashed on the traitor, leaving only ash where they had once stood defiant before the closest thing to a demigod the universe may have to offer.

Coming alongside her sister, Nelchitl placed a gauntleted hand on her shoulder and raised her chainsword to point toward the still resisting traitors.

“One swing of the blade and we finish this action.” she scowled as a bolt of energy deflected off her armor, “I tire of their insistence.”

Taking her hand from her sister Nelchitl removed her helmet dropping it where she stood. The discordant melody of the furious combat around her and the flavors of death and ozone filled her senses. Raising her chainsword high she bellowed as her daughters from the 31st Company arrived to join their Primarch and sisters from the XXth.

“For the Emperor!” she raged, the sounds of her daughter's responses all but drowned out by her singular focus to end this futile last stand once and for all. She crossed the great hall in moments, her chainsword sweeping through traitors in one hand, and buckling turncoats in hammer fisted blows with the other. Blood-lust overcoming her every desire, the Emerald Priestess ripped into the enemy ceaselessly, every blow killing and maiming. She worked through the mortals in front of her with brutal efficiency, the lithe flowing form of battle of her Sister and the Tears nowhere to be seen in the ranks of the Serpents and their Primarch as they crashed into the defenders. So savage was the assault of the Serpent’s to end the battle, that the amount of matter building in Nelchitl’s chainsword became so complete that the Primarch of the XVIIth began using it as a crude club against the men around her.

Breaking through a crude barrier, Nelchitl left the useless weapon impaled through a fool behind her and began killing with fists alone. Laughing and howling in equal parts as she crushed heads in her hands and bludgeoned traitors to death with the bodies of their comrades. Her lauded Serpents of the Assault squads joining in the horrendous melee around her with cries of reverence for the Emerald Priestess and the Emperor alike.

While Nelchitl and her daughters fought like the roaring wind of the hurricane, pulling the enemy apart, often literally, Sekhmetara advanced as its eye, a centre of calm in the torrent of violence raging around her. Were she not a being of genetic perfection standing in shining armour of her home planet’s distinctive weave and scheme, she might almost go unnoticed. The enemy were, by nature of the Serpents hacking them to pieces, forced to essentially ignore her as she took in the scene, noted the flow of combat and the enemy. She did not care for their individual deaths, although her super-attuned senses noted every Serpent who fell. Another name to a growing list of crimes committed by the traitors in the name of a false freedom. It was not her blade which lashed out for vengeance now, but the weapon of her other hand. With almost dismissive gestures, the battle-gauntlet erupted with precise volkite-fire, the invisible death cooking rebels within their armour, turning them to slurry within the protective shielding which could blunt the chew of bolter fire. She seemed passive, but she was anything but, each decision a scything blow to the enemy’s ability to reform and repel the invaders from their final sanctum in the hive.

When the fighting pushed up into the final chamber, the den of betrayal which had spun this city into its throes of defiance, she changed in a blur. Sekhmetara leapt, springing like the tyrantigers of her homeworld through the air, the six arms of her grav-chutes extending outwards. The blade-like appearance of each arm proving that appearances are not always deceiving, slicing through those who tried to move to flank her even as she was carried through the air, the mono-blading along each wing slicing as lethally as her spear. She landed among their council of dignitaries, those panicked faces who had brought ruin to their people. She had decided which one she would spare before she had leapt, the rest were dead with the next blink of the eye, her glaive moving faster than the human eye or mind could follow.

“You.” She spoke with dripping contempt as she seized the flabby form of the politician by the neck, hefting the man’s considerable bulk from the ground into the air before her. Despite appearances, he did not mentally collapse as many did. Of course he whimpered and gasped, but that was the biological reaction of any human caught in the vice of a superior predator. He did not, however, fight to beg her for anything through his collapsing larynx. Her very low impression of the man increased just a little. At least they had something approaching fire.

She reversed her grip, allowing the man a gasp of air, before clutching his neck from the back as she held him aloft, turning him around the chamber so he could witness the slaughter of his people, pulling her lips up beside his ear as they watched together. “Do you see what you have done? What your cry for false-freedom has earned you? You had your place in this new galaxy of reason and progress, my legion would have brought you all into a glorious future.” Her voice was barely a whisper, before one hand took the back of his head, forcing the man to look upon the advancing form of Nelchitl, ripping through armoured rebels with her fists alone. “Now this is the future of your sorry little planet.” She dropped the man, letting him slump with a moan of pain and fear forwards. Slowly, her foot pressed to the back of his head, pushing him forwards into a pool of spent viscera collating on the floor from his many slain colleagues. It was no effort for the primach to hold him there as he drowned, each second of struggle a soothing balm to her rage at the situation. The man died well before Nelchitl reached her, and the serene calm had returned to Sekhmetara’s features.
In Dulce et Decorum Est - A WWI Inspired Nation Roleplay (Mark II) → 3 yrs ago Forum: Nation Roleplay
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