#XIth legion

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Saorlaith Clannmorna, The Lost Primarch of the Eleventh Legion and Warrior Queen of the Black Eagles

In the annals of Imperial History, there stand heroes greater than any other. These are the Primarchs, the Sons of the Emperor of Mankind, the patriarchs of the Twenty Legions of the Adeptus Astartes who united a frayed and divided galaxy in a long ago age when people still looked to the stars with hope... and the events of the Horus Heresy had not yet doomed the galaxy to darkness, suffering, and despair. But of these, only Eighteen are remembered: The Nine who Turned Traitor, and The Nine Who Remained, steadfast and loyal. Here then is a tale, a tale of the Eleventh Primarch, lost to history and imperial records. It is the tale of Saorlaith Clannmorna, Queen and Matriarch of the Black Eagles Legion.

Saorlaith was always an outlier. As the sole deliberate attempt by the Emperor to craft a female Primarch, it is unclear what he’d hoped to achieve, or what role Saorlaith would have been intended to serve in had events played out their planned course.

Such plans, clearly, were not to be.

Scattered like her brothers by the furious winds of Chaos, Saorlaith was deposited by chance or destiny upon a misty and mountainous world. It was a primitive world not unlike the forgotten highlands of the ancient British Isles of Holy Terra, green with moss and heather, black with stone, and grey with numerous lakes that stretched like battle scars across its face. These endless highlands were called Dún na Badb, a name which carried beneath it the world’s dark and violent history.

Saorlaith was found by a local woman, Morna. Enigmatic and feared, Morna was a Queen of a great and remote land, as well as a respected and wise priestess of the Old Deer God and The Horned Huntress. Morna had powerful sorcerous gifts, and used her fell gifts to ferret out secrets from her rivals, deliver sickness and bad luck to her enemies, or heal her friends, and her wrath was swift and fatal if crossed, with powerful armies that crushed her opposition. Yet the imposing woman genuinely loved Saorlaith, and doted on her as a daughter. She inculcated in the young Primarch the ways of blood and sorcery, and the thrill of battle. Saorlaith grew up with many visitors paying homage to her mother or seeking her advice, but few for long term company, leading to a brilliant yet aloof and suspicious young woman who found difficulty connecting with others, especially as few if any ever sought to truly gain her friendship rather than attempt to leverage her position and title in some way. She was always "the Princess" or "the Heirress", and never simply "Saorlaith" to most. Despite her loneliness, or indeed perhaps because of it, she quickly learned the ways of a Warrior Princess, bonding well with her instructors, from whom she knew and understood the social equation and status quo. Never did they seek to use her connections, or use her to worm their way into her mother's favor; they were invested in her advancement and survival, and she was invested in the skills they had to teach her. Progressing quickly, eventually supplanted her mother at the head of her kingdom's vast armies by the age of 16, though Morna remained a close advisor to her daughter long even after she eventually abdicated the throne in Saorlaith’s favor. 

It is said that the day before Saorlaith assumed the throne, she heeded her mother's wisdom and traveled alone into the misty crags and moors to seek the blessing of the old gods and their court. She traveled unarmed and undressed, wearing just a simple and undecorated gown, a mark of humility before the great powers whose favors she hoped to win.

During her wandering, Saorlaith came across a great and vast lake she had not seen before. Taking a moment to rest, she was engaged by a mysterious man and woman. The man was dressed in furs and moss, and his hat was rimmed with the teeth of mighty predators and crested with antlers from a mighty deer. The woman was clad in leather and hides, and a hauberk of green mail. Saorlaith spoke for some time with the travelers, who claimed to be acquainted with Morna. Upon learning that Saorlaith was Morna's daughter and heir, the two became delighted, and engaged the young princess all day and night with conversation and games of riddles and clever wit. As morning came, the travelers thanked Saorlaith for her hospitality, and the woman waded into the waters, and drew from them a mighty shimmering spear, Géar-Anail, the White Breath, bestowing it upon the princess as a coronation gift fit only for the true heir of Queen Morna. As the travelers passed back into the mist, Saorlaith could not help but feel as though perhaps she'd known them when she was very young. Taking her prize back to her home, she was crowned by her mother, and took her place as Queen of her mountain realm and commander of her army.

Saorlaith became known as “The Unbreakable”, as her campaigns claimed triumph after triumph, and though her skills as a strategist and tactician were certainly fitting for her labors when required, her victories came more from her wild and savage charges, overwhelming her enemies in a stampede of relentless violence in simple pursuit of glory and the win, pure battle and conquest for its own sake. Saorlaith was a warrior at heart. A capable queen, yes, but her heart ever longed for greater battlefields beyond. She ached for new battles, new foes, and greater glories. It was not in her restless nature to simply sit on what she had already accomplished, for she knew in her bones that it would be in that way that her victory itself would be the one to finally defeat her.

Having conquered her own world, Saorlaith grew despondent that such incredible success would be the end of her. There were no further gains to make, no great foes to keep herself sharp against. While Saorlaith reconstructed her newly unified planet into a mighty and glittering kingdom where the druidic sorcerous ways of her ancestors ran like blood through the lowest levels, upholding everything, she began to fear that her greatest triumphs might be behind her. All that lay before her had been conquered and reshaped. The occasional rebellion offered no challenge, no real chance to prove what else she might do.

One day, the magic whispered to Saorlaith that a stranger from afar would soon arrive, though her attempts to scry specifics went maddeningly unanswered. Whoever this stranger was, her blood raced at the thought of it. Some great warrior, perhaps? Some mighty challenge to overcome? Perhaps the Old Stag God had finally answered her prayers.

The day the Emperor came to Dún na Badb, Saorlaith was beside herself with anticipation, warmly welcoming the stranger and treating him to the finest hospitality of her people. She could tell at once that glory rode in this man’s wake, and that it was his destiny to show Saorlaith hers. She told him she would follow where he led, but formality required him to defeat her in the holy Carnfēth, the War Judgement – a sacred battle rite to determine leadership. As Queen, she would be shamed if she knelt before another warrior who had not defeated her in battle. Either the Emperor would defeat her in single combat without sorcery, or be denied his Primarch. The duel was the stuff of legend, and it is said to have lasted for nine days. Saorlaith was not the type to show quarter, and nor was the Emperor willing to relinquish his Eleventh to this backwater world. From the lowest valley to the highest peak, the two clashed, neither showing the slightest hint of false judgment or failed skill. Eventually, however, Saorlaith began to worry that the battle might have no end. Perhaps they were equally skilled, and the battle might last forever… neither fit to command or to be commanded, neither able to cow the other. In this moment, the battle was decided, for Saorlaith, distracted for the slightest measure, lost her footing and fell upon the sword she had given the Emperor. Yet Saorlaith was delighted – in having lost, she found renewed purpose. She had not finished her list of glories, and this loss symbolized that for her. The Emperor promised her an army unlike anything she had ever seen, and he promised her not simply a planet to conquer, but a galaxy in which to seek her glory. Saorlaith would never have refused such an offer.

During the ritual ceremony in which Saorlaith returned governorship of Dún na Badb to the Queen Mother Morna, the Emperor visibly recoiled, startled, in the Queen Mother’s presence as she caught his eye. It is not known why. The two leaders spoke no more with each other than the ceremony demanded, and the Emperor uncharacteristically left with barely-disguised haste, as though being in Morna’s mere presence was either panic or pain-inducing.

Returning to Holy Terra with the Eleventh Primarch, the Emperor was pleased to see her eagerness to take up the Great Crusade, and even more pleased to see that she had healed from her battle wound quickly. He judged, correctly, that she would indeed be a force to be reckoned with once paired with warriors who matched her skills and ferocity.

The Eleventh Legion, the Storm Sovereigns, was indeed a fine army as promised, but the largely Terran recruits disgusted Saorlaith. Clean-shaven Astarte warriors and standardized livery made them all look identical in the eyes of the Mountain Queen, and she immediately set about instilling her way and her image among her new army, just as she’d done at Dún na Badb. Her warriors would decorate their bronze-colored armor with personalized and intricate highland knotwork emblematic of her home world. Their hair and beards would be encouraged to grow wild, often being elaborately braided or otherwise decorated with feathers and beads. Before battle, they performed ritual war chants, songs, and dances, and decorated their flesh with blue paint. This was no mere physical affectation, but a vow to become as beasts who knew no retreat or surrender. The act of painting focused the Astarte’s resolve, steeling them for the blood and carnage to come. Further, like her brother Primarchs, she began to draw new recruits for the legion from her homeworld, filling its ranks with boisterous and passionate, but highly skilled, barbarian highland warriors she knew the measure of and trusted more than the "outsiders" she'd been saddled with. These warriors now had the technology and the means to follow their Queen to the cosmos, and to elevate their kind of warfare to a scale and level they had never previously dreamed possible, and the newly forged “Black Eagles” legion took wing to the stars, taking their appetites for blood and battle with them, ready to find glory and conquest wherever they landed.

The Black Eagles were much changed by Saorlaith’s leadership – she brought with her not just the battle traditions of her people, but also their sorcery. Those who she considered the most capable and trustworthy of her “Sons” were inducted into secret rites and taught a kind of magic that exposed weakness in the enemy, by revealing secrets or bringing flaws to the surface where they could do the most damage, in a way that simply appeared to be a horrific “run of bad luck” when it could be least afforded. The mystic chants of the highland marines’ sorcery and eerie bellowing of their animalistic war horns presaged doom to a thousand worlds that dared defy the Legion and the Great Crusade as their imminent assault would batter and break an enemy that was never as ready to face them as they might have believed or hoped.

Despite Saorlaith’s incredible battlefield successes, she found few friends among her Brothers. Angron was too much of a brute in her eyes; she was all for testing her mettle in battle and achieving glory, but Angron was simply about slaughter, like a rabid war dog Saorlaith would have happily put down herself had she been allowed to. Mortarion was perhaps her first real rival among the Primarchs, detesting her and her legion for their Druidic Craft, while Lorgar Aurelian saw in their rites and traditions the mark of heresy. Fulgrim she dismissed as a preening peacock too concerned with glamor to find true glory, Alpharius as a fool and a tryhard leader too clever for his own good by half, wasting his and the Imperium’s time on his overly complex schemes instead of simply winning when a simple win presented itself, and Pertuabo and Ferrus Manus confounded her with their hatred for weakness rather than their love of strength. Roboute Guilliman, Horus Lupercal, and Rogal Dorn all but outright hated her for her unwillingness to yield to their strategies and authority. Even Vulkan’s legendary patience and compassion met its limits with Saorlaith, who was far too independent to listen to his counsel. And in Sanguinius… Saorlaith saw something worrying. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but in Sanguinius she saw a lurking darkness that terrified her, and she avoided her angelic brother to no end. She made an effort to befriend fellow outsider Konrad Kurze, but his growing instability brought their friendship to an early end. Corvus Corax’s secrecy and tendency to favor subtler means, as well as his favoring of loyalty and obedience, grated on Saorlaith’s nerves. Jaghatai Khan rubbed her the wrong way, simply by being too much like her for them to have ever gotten along. While she didn’t dislike Magnus the Red, she felt his focus was too much on the mysterious and the ethereal, and the way he regarded her almost as a puzzle box to solve unnerved her. Ironically, Lion El Jonson, who had an upbringing relatively similar to hers, and in many ways might have been considered the other side of her coin, and therefore might have understood her better than any of the other Primarchs, held her in disdain for her “Barbarian ways” even if she secretly admired his results and composure. It was Leman Russ who was perhaps the most kindred of spirits, a true brother to her when all others grated, drifted, or avoided her. The Eagle and the Wolf, the Celt and the Viking, the Queen and the Chieftain, frequently fought alongside each other and for a time, they shared a close friendship, and the Black Eagles and Space Wolves accomplished great things together, but like all good things, this too was doomed to come to an end. Finally, Ailani, Saorlaith’s lone sister, and Primarch of the Imperial Hospitallers, never gave up hope on the wild warrior queen. Despite their frequent disagreements as Ailani’s peaceful healing ways clashed wildly with Saorlaith’s violent lust for conquest, Ailani was always there to listen to Saorlaith’s grievances and frustrations, and while they never saw eye to eye, the two sisters grew close as the Crusade went on.

However, the fate of the Eleventh Legion was already sealed, and they would not see the Horus Heresy play out. With her growing frustrations with her brothers gnawing at her, Saorlaith had become more headstrong and reckless than ever, and Leman Russ began to see her as a liability. Further, Russ began to question her loyalty, as, ever the soul of tact, Saorlaith bitterly complained of the Emperor's crackdowns on the Druidic Craft of her people and their worship of the Old Stag God. In her mind, this was not what she had signed up for. She had been promised glory for her and her people, not this... colonialist cultural censorship that threatened to eradicate keystones of her culture and heritage. As the Emperor began to make increasing strides towards banishing religion and sorcery from the Imperium, Saorlaith chafed more and more, becoming bitter and paranoid towards her brothers. She knew they disliked and even mistrusted her, and some like Mortarion and Alpharius were already claiming they could handle her campaigns more effectively than she could. Saorlaith deigned to let them try.

As Saorlaith and the Black Eagles outright began to refuse orders in pursuit of chasing their own glory independently, Leman's already waning patience wore out, and he brought his case to the Emperor, who advised the Sixth Primarch to “chastise” his sister and her legion. Unfortunately, by this time, Ailani had already begun conspiring with her sister to leave the Imperium entirely with their respective legions and peoples, with a dream to establishing their own free realm in the wilds of space, far apart from an Imperium both had gradually become increasingly disillusioned with. The gentle Ailani's blood boiled at the Emperor's treatment of her; she had never particularly willingly agreed to his Crusade, and for hundreds of years he had taken her home world hostage to ensure her continued compliance. Seeing in her so-perfectly opposite sister such incredible similarity, the two had plotted to desert. Let the Emperor have his Grand Vision. In some back corner of the universe, the two sisters would have theirs: a place where they and their people could live free from the Emperor's tyranny. Saorlaith began pulling her veteran warriors from the lines and assembling a small but elite force meant to safeguard and evacuate Dún na Badb. These were marines recruited from the planet, who had ties and roots and loyalties there. Her Terran recruited marine veterans remained on the front lines, mentoring the youngest and least experienced Marines to allay suspicion that her dedication to the cause might be lacking until she had already left. Let those wayward sons of hers know nothing of her plot, that way they might be kept safe, or as safe as possible, from the consequences of her decisions. Perhaps there would even be room for reconciliation in the future, should the winds of destiny blow in that direction.

However, upon returning home to Dún na Badb to evacuate it, Saorlaith was shocked and angered to find the Space Wolves already assembled there, with Leman Russ at the head of his force to deal with Saorlaith in person. Her heart sank, and her anger soared, as she assumed Leman Russ had already discovered her plot to desert. In fact, he had not, and he had simply been hoping to resolve what to him was a disciplinary matter that had far exceeded an allowable scale. Two clashing sets of intentions and views of reality among leaders neither of which being particularly known for diplomatic restraint is seldom a pleasant matter, and it was not long before an unforgivable mistake was made. Who fired first is both unknown and unimportant, but it was held that the battle was titanic; indeed, it was the most ferocious either the Sixth or the Eleventh legions had ever partaken in, for no Space Marine had ever faced a threat quite like another Space Marine. Yet for all the battle’s horror, it was ultimately mere prelude to the nightmares of the Horus Heresy to come. It is generally held that the Space Wolves emerged victorious. To her own shock, Saorlaith lost a second time, this time to Leman Russ, who gravely wounded her in single combat, though he was either unwilling or unable to complete the kill. Arriving in the Primarch's greatest moment of need was Medrawt, the feared First Captain of the Black Eagles, and her mightiest and most favored champion. Medrawt was a peerless warrior in the legion, long rumored to be the Primarch's biological son. Whatever the case he was among the first to be recruited to the Legion at Dún na Badb, and it was also at Dún na Badb that evidence suggests Medrawt proved his mettle and did the impossible by managing to distract and hold off Leman Russ long enough to facilitate Saorlaith's retreat from the battlefield, and then retreat in turn. Despite her escape with Medrawt and a host of survivors, her legion’s numbers were significantly culled in the battle. Three out of five Black Eagles who took part in the battle perished, crippling the Legion, and the novice Black Eagles and Terran veterans carrying the Legion's part of the Great Crusade elsewhere in the galaxy with no knowledge of the betrayal were no safer, being swiftly turned on by their supposed allies and eradicated without ever receiving an explanation why.

While Leman Russ and his legion purged Dún na Badb, he was puzzled to find Morna, the Queen Mother, completely absent. Reporting his findings to the Emperor, the Emperor showed a rare and fleeting moment of genuine fear upon hearing that the Old Crone Queen had vanished. But, this soon vanished, as, coupled with his rage at Ailani’s much more successful rebellion and rout of the World Eaters, in part due to the survivors of the battle of Dún na Badb arriving to assist in the evacuation of Ailani’s homeworld of Takiko, the Emperor turned his formidable psychic prowess to burning the errant women from history, along with their traitorous sons. The two had dared defy him. They had made a mockery of his power and authority. Their rebellion and flight from the Imperium threatened to undermine all he hoped to build by showing that ways other than Imperial Unity might be viable. It could not stand. It would not. Even Leman Russ, who personally fought his sister at the climax of the battle, forgot her in an instant. The records were purged. The monuments were destroyed. The Second and Eleventh Legions’ victories were “assigned” to other legions. All evidence of them was destroyed, except for the hole they left behind.

It is no wonder that the Eleventh Legion and their Primarch failed to aid Terra during the Horus Heresy. Of course, they had fled so far it would be ages, thousands of years, even, before they learned of the Heresy. Saorlaith’s feelings on the matter are unknown, but most assuredly complicated as she weeps for her lost people and quintimated sons.

Among those who are able to intuit the existence of the old Second and Eleventh Legions, and their Primarchs, doubtless a sense of wonder must set in.

What must have happened, that nobody can remember their names, their faces, or their deeds? Could it have been even worse than the Horus Heresy? Obviously it must have been, for the Traitor Primarch’s names are still remembered and the Second and Eleventh have been totally buried and forgotten.

Do these Primarchs live still? Do they regret their rebellion and treason? And perhaps… might they one day return? Surely if Guilliman and Jonson have returned in the Imperium’s darkest hours… all things must be possible. What redemption might lie ahead for Saorlaith Clannmorna of Dún na Badb, the Weeping Eleventh?

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

The Astartes' much more exciting cousins, undocumented of course but by their simple nature, the Time Marines

Their gene-sire is of course the lost Primarch of the V̴̧̪̪̺̯̀̉Ì̸̡̛͙̫̦̹̥͚͙͚̓̈̏͐̂I̷͚͓̜͈͑̿̈́̒̓͋̔̂̽̕I̵̢̡̛̹͉̩͓̣̟̿̅͊͗͂̂̈́̚t̷̻̬̯̄̔̾͂̒̔͛̕ḫ̸̢͐̽͐̎̈͠ ̴̞̠̪̝̪̟̞̮̭̾̅̿̇̽͜X̷̨̥̗̙̠̠̓t̴̛̳͍̞͋͒̈̅̎̊̑͝ͅh̶͈̹͔̟̣̍̓̈́̕͜ͅ XIth legion, Tennant Eccleston, the Temporal Lord. Every single time marine (Astartes Tempus) is overwhelmingly Scottish-accented. Grievously injured time marines are placed in postbox-looking dreadnought sarcophagi not only so that they can continue to fight, but because the forbidden archeotech contained within the mysterious coffins slowly regenerates them to full health over time, though they often come out looking a bit different.

[sigmaart39]

*Homebrew posting* I want to take the chance to share you my current homebrew project: Selen, Primarch of the XIth Legion, the "Moon Maidens", a female space marines legion

Following the advice of Malcador, the Emperor decided to create a sister to make the things more civilized between his sons, thinking that just one sister would be enough

[taythecatfey]

Because I'm a massive Fulgrim stand and I'm having too much fun with Big E's illegal daughters, I've concocted a head cannon about how Fulgrim met the primarch of the XIth legion, Mauhcayo at the Imperial Palace. Also the specific pressure he was put under after being given the title of the Empire's Children for his Legion.

Fulgrim never had to wage war to bring Chemos into compliance. He solved all its problems with minimal fighting and mostly with his skills as an engineer and through diplomacy. He took a dying world with a beaten population and made it habitable and place where he could indulge his people in beautiful things again. I don't think he ever thought there wasn't a problem he couldn't fix.

When Big E comes and basically tells him he has a higher purpose to do even greater acts for humanity as a whole I can only imagine the man was ecstatic at the prospect. But then he gets to Terra and finds out he only has two-hundred astartes under him because a flaw within himself killed them and he must now lead these men in the art of warfare. Yeah he's a primarch, a genetically designed general, but compared to Horus or Russ, he basically has no practical experience in leading an army. Then on top of that, Fulgrim gives such a moving speech to his remaining sons that Big E on the spot goes here's this massive honor I bestow on you without having seen you actually prove your metal yet.

A big part of Fulgrim's personality from what I've read is him aggressively striding for perfection because he feels flawed. The weight of expectations to be a primarch, to do amazing things with an army of only two-hundred men with no real experience I can only image as being anxiety inducing.

So back to the picture– Fulgrim is left to contemplate the massive responsibility his new position that has thrust upon him. He thinks he has a flaw so deep that it killed most of the men he's meant to lead. The XIth primarch finds him brooding and tries to offer him some advice, having been found before him. Mauhcayo as a blank cannot from any meaningful connections with anyone and thus sees her value to Big E as a tool only. She cannot falter because if she fails she fears she will be replaced. So she tells Fulgrim to never faltre and always prove his wroth to Big E so he can never question his value despite the odds. Fulgrim takes this advice to heart. His solved every problem hes ever had before, he'll face this one by perfecting himself into the perfect primarch.

[ask-artemis-prima]

“I am the Emperor’s Will made manifest. I am His Righteous Fury. I am His Hateful Wrath.” Johanna Diodochi is one of the Eleven Pyrthians and Head Chaplain of the Twilight Repentors. During the Unification Wars on Terra, Johanna came to the belief that the bringing known as Emperor of Mankind was truly a Holy figure. The exploit during the Great Crusade further proved her beliefs, and soon enough she was a member of the Imperial Cult. Though she and her Lady came to disputed over the power of Divinity and Belief, Johanna became instrumental in routing our Word Bearer influences within the XIth. Johanna’s role to the Repentors now includes keeping their faith in the Imperial Creed, and easing them when they start to feel the pain of their sacrificed brethren. @fuukonomiko and @asklotarasarrin

[theangelofartillery]

( @the-lord-of-boars )

A spot in space among the Halo stars bulged before a tear in reality opened up as a ship pushed through. A Gloriana class with a pitted and horribly scarred hide slid from the warp’s embrace as Many more tears opened up allowing the Gloriana’s lesser siblings to exit the warp.

After forming up into a proper formation the fleet began scanning, collecting data to try and find the answers to two questions, where were they and would the wolves be able to find them here?

Visitors were rare in the Wayward Holdings - Astartes visitors especially so. In the past ten centuries, they’d dealt with the occasional Rogue Trader, treasure hunter, and Chaos incursion. Tyranids, Drukhari raids, and Ork Waaaghs were an ever-present risk. But an actual Astartes fleet, lead by the rarest of ship classes? That was unheard of. Unthinkable.

As the ship entered realspace, a dozen sensors pinged. Sensors on satellite- and asteroid-bound probes placed there for that purpose: to scan the void for any disturbance in the Warp. The ships were counted. Logged. Their scans detected in turn. 

A dozen alarms sounded on the Aegis Panoptes’ own Gloriana-class, the Aetos Dios. Circling the Holdings on an eternal guard patrol, it was first to receive the signal. At once the vast, ancient void-ship turned and set a path to the intruder’s location, a vast shark racing off to defend its territory. One that swarmed with remoras as the smaller craft of the Legion gathered around its flanks. 

As luck would have it, the XIth Primarch himself was onboard the Aetos Dios, helping replace and upgrade the ship’s many turbolifts. He dropped his tools and raced to the command bridge at once, uncaring that he was covered in greasy oil and in no way dressed for war. Tiise arrived as the other Gloriana-class came into view through the vast windows. Just a tiny speck in the vastness of space, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off it. His eyes wide, wings trembling, hands clasped in an attitude of prayer - his terror was clear for all to see. He swallowed and spoke, his gaze still on the ship. “...which Legion is it?”

The Captain of the human crew, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair and many bionics, shook her head. “I can’t say, my lord. The heraldry they display doesn’t match any of our records. It must be a modern Chapter.”

Tiise’s wings sagged with relief. If they were a modern Chapter, they’d likely never heard of the Aegis Panoptes. They weren’t finally here to make him pay for his desertion. “Hail them, but activate the Jupiter Lance just in case.” he said, crossing to sit on the command throne. “Warn the rest of the Legion, too.”

[crimsonweresloth]

Welcome

So, for anyone who is wondering this heresy is an alternate one from the Horus Heresy from the main timeline. A major change is the XIth Primarch Tenebrae Arc of the Angels of Remnant legion exists in this alternate timeline. The Great Betrayer being Roboute Guilliman with Fulgrim, Jaghatai Khan, Leman Russ, Ferrus Manus, Mortarion, Vulkan, Corvus Corax,  Alpharius & Omegon. With the Warmaster fighting in the Imperiums defensives with Lion El’Jonson, Perturabo, Rogal Dorn, Konrad Curze, Sanguinius, Tenebrae Arc, Angron, the Thousand Sons and Logar Aurelian.

Please feel free to asks questions about the Heresy to learn what may or may not have happened to your favorite Primarchs.

[thesilentinquisitor]

Rebooted Blogs Open

[I still need to work on their backstories/bios and reblog a few memes, but if you want to throw them a few asks and maybe start something you’re welcome.

TheAngelOfArtillery: 30/40k. XIth Legion the Aegis Panoptes and Primarch Tiise Phaethon. Having spent several years trapped inside his gestation pod, Tiise is the physically youngest of his brothers at just 25 years old at discovery. Raised in a technologically advanced but extremely controlled society, he knows far more about lasweapons and drones than he does people. During the Crusade, he was unremarkable. During the Heresy, he was absent. But now Guilliman has returned, the XIth Legion are coming out of the shadows.

TheTormentedTyrant: 40k, maybe 30k. The Lost IInd Primarch, gene-father of the Tomb Jackals. Returned from his exile underneath the Pyramid on Esceapi, Cihangir Karga didn’t return alone - he has company in the form of Setesh, an ancient daemon of unknown origin and great power. Despite this he’s still determined to protect his planet, his people, and his son - and, if possible, retain what little humanity he has left. Whether he awoke during the Crusade, the Heresy, or when the galaxy split entirely depends on the timeline. ]

[ask-abaddon-the-despoiler]

@primarch-legio-xi

Abaddon nodded his head in respect to the Primarch of the XIth Legion. “I am glad you have arrived,” he said, “If you will follow me, I will take you to Lord Horus.”

[inoxhammer]

Massacre of the XIth Legion by Isuardi Therianto

https://www.artstation.com/artwork/gJGlOE

Visit My Store: https://inoxhammer.com/

[aryalaenkha-a]

@party-of-rpg-muses | INBOX.

>> As a former member of the XIVth Legion, was Aria also present during the attack on Ivalice?

The XIVth Legion, led by Gaius van Baelsar, was in charge of conquering Eorzea, as the first Lorebook says.

The youngest of the Empire's legions, le XIVth formed under Gaius van Baelsar, who had loyally served as tribunus angusticlavius of the XIth. The XIVth legion was his prize for a series of stunning victories against a nation upon the fringes of Othard. Under Gaius's command, the XIVth went on to conquer and convert several enemy cities. By the end of the Sixth Astral Era, the legion had turned toward Eorzea, and brought Ala Mhigo to kneel before its might.

Following the Seventh Umbral Calamity, the XIVth advanced further into Eorzea, and shored up its position with castrums in every area. From these footholds, it sought to bring every city-state under its power. However, the XIVth me with staunch resistance from the Eorzean Alliance, and ultimately failed in its aim. As the legion lost almost all officers -- including Gaius -- in a series of fearsome battles, the command structure is currently fractured, and the remaining troops have largely locked themselves away within imperial strongholds.

If you mean the attack on Ivalice and Damalsca by Garlemald, this happened almost 55 years before the fall of Dalamud and the beginning of the Seventh Umbral Era, when Solus was about 28 years old and was named Dictator. As a result, Aria was not even born at that time.

[darkshreaders]

here is a primarch OC

Primarch: Raktra Akarro Homeworld: Uran

Legion: XI

History: The gestation pod that housed the infant Primarch landed in the centre of a prison complex, obliterating a large portion of the structure with the impact of its landing and causing a mass breakout. As is typical of many large prisons, several dozen gangs had formed during their incarceration, one in particular calling themselves "The Children of Desolation". Basing their faith on the belief that the haunting creatures colloquially named 'angels' that prowled the skies of Uran, descending upon the native humans at random for unknown purposes, were the heralds of apocalypse and the end of all life, they alone searched for the reason why their confines had been destroyed. Coming across the infant Primarch emerging from his capsule and tearing dozens of unnameable tubes from his flesh, they swept him away with them as they found a hiding place to lay low.

As time passed on, the young Raktra grew quickly, as all Primarchs did, and was soon strong enough to ram his fist completely through the body of the largest of creatures that opposed The Children and tear their hearts out in one swift motion. Witnessing his incredible development and terrifying strength, The Children began to herald him as their messiah, following his word and emulating his actions. Of course, being a child raised on the actions of psychotic death row criminals obsessed with their own impending doom, these actions became the stuff of underground nightmares before long. Eventually The Children began to impose their wills on the other gangs from the breakout, tracking them down and either threatening them into compliance or, more commonly, taking their loyalty by force. Raktra himself would challenge the ringleaders to personal combat, brutally crushing them and burning their bodies to ash to be used in The Children's tradition of marking one's flesh with the remains of their foes. By the time Raktra's outlaws were ready to take their first city, he had tattooed himself so heavily with the ashes of his victims that his flesh was permanently stained the grubby white of old snow. Within the space of a few years, the vast majority of the planet was under the control of Raktra and his followers, and society showed it. The previously calm, if perpetually nervous, cities and settlements of Uran had become places of brutality and oppression, with anyone speaking out against the new regime silenced with a boot to the throat or a hammer to the temple. A sense of cold arrogance and perceived might spread throughout the populace, resulting in more and more people being stolen away by the Angels as they brazenly marched across previously avoided mesas and ignored warnings from spotters. Heeding the pleas of his closest advisors, Raktra gathered the most violent factions in The Children and made a declaration; they would draw them out and prove themselves to the Angels. For the first time in the history of their world, they would kill a flight of Angels, and in doing so send a message to the bastard creatures that had plagued them for so long that they would no longer roll over and accept their threat.  The Uran horde journeyed far and wide, desolist priests chanting rituals of warding and performing blood rituals to lend their brothers strength, the rest sharpening blades, loading guns and roaring in anticipation. Raktra stood at their head, a great motorised chain-blade shackled to his right hand and a lash of heavy chain gripped in his left. On the third day, as the sun broke through the shroud of the night, a great wind picked up around the assembled humans followed by the deafening sound of thousands of wings beating against the sky.  The world had become a spiral of blades, claws and gunfire before a normal man could even draw breath. The Angels lay about themselves with bird-like talons, rainbow-feathered wings and gobs of unnatural flame that simultaneously burned and froze those it struck. Some where able to resist where the desolists still stood, others finding themselves mysteriously invigorated by their wounds, but most fell screaming to the dirt as their corpses crystallised. The slowly-shrinking circle of killers pulled tighter and tighter against each other, slipping over the unbelievable mound of dead and bleeding underneath their boots, and as they confined themselves to what they believed was an inevitable death, salvation came.

Bolter rounds and volkite charges ripped through the monsters, inhumanly precise aim preventing any friendly fire even with the ridiculous amount of dirt and motion that surely had to be obscuring the vision of the new arrivals. With the tides turned and the Angels repelled, The Children finally got a clear view of their saviours.

Hulking, sea-green armoured warriors stamped towards them, at their head a pair of giants dressed in black and gold. The Children stared in awe and dropped to their knees, all except for Raktra who approached them with a curious glint in his eyes. The black-clad man nodded curtly to him, whilst the man in gold spread his arms and came closer.

"My son," he said. "I have found you at last."

Raktra met the already existing members of his Legion, and found himself disgusted by them. Examining their history and battle records, he saw how merciful they were in their invasions and how readily they would take and make comfortable their prisoners. Worse, he saw the glowing admiration that his supposed "father" heaped upon these actions, and felt his stomach churn. If these were to be his men, there could be no pity, no innocence. Any semblance of forgiveness had to be stamped out, by any means necessary.

New recruits were brought in from his home world and the Legion took on a shape more to his liking. The greater numbers of former members of The Children began to fill the ranks, and the combination of their violent culture and newly-enhanced bodies brought out a fire that the Uran people were keen to let wild upon the universe. Raktra, meanwhile, was versed in the ways of the Imperial armies, and educated by his Primarch brothers. Being the charmless bastard that he was, he forged few connections with those he bore genes with, and even those bonds were strained. The closest he came to respect were Ferrus Manus of the Xth, and later Angron of the XIIth, appreciating the brutal honesty and direct nature of the two, but little else, and the grim creature that was Mortarion, the only one he would call "brother", though this was a rare occurrence. In Mortarion he found a similar set of core beliefs - that the universe was dark, life was bloody and everything died in the end. Of those he disliked, none were more hated than the lord of the IXth, the great Sanguinius. Though Raktra would never admit to it, seeing such a powerful and skilled fighter leading a force of so-called "angels" whilst appearing himself as an angel of some ancient Terran faith, clawed at him with the first feelings of fear he had ever known.

By the time they were prepared to venture out into the galaxy on their own, the XIth Legion had transformed their colours from a gentle duck-egg blue to the greying black of burnt coal, their arms a grubby white to link themselves to their Primarch, and to better show the blood spatter from the beatings they dealt out. Raktra himself had his chain blade modified and improved by Legion artificers, naming it "the Grinder", and dressing for war in a loose-fitting suit of artificer armour that left his arms and head bare to maximise his range of motion when swinging his sword. His appearance matching his methods and his men finally suited to his needs, Raktra ordered his Legion's old name expunged from all records, to be replaced by their new title - the Berserkers of Uran. The Crusade ground on and Raktra became more and more distant from his brothers who were less appreciative of his methods than others. While that had no direct effect on his ability to wage war, rumblings of dissent began in his own Legion. Fractures between the various chapters grew wide, morally separating the native Uran recruits and the "off-worlders". The Uran would trample over everything and everyone in their path, leaving the survivors to fend for themselves whereas the off-worlders would employ the typical Imperial tactic of rebuilding and re-educating the locals to assimilate them into the acceptable standards set down by the Emperor. Eventually the Legion barely resembled one coherent fighting force - if anything, it now operated as two demi-legions, and the gaze of the Emperor was drawn. Hearing whispers and rumours and letting his own bitterness guide him, Raktra prepared his more 'loyal' men for the then-almost-unheard of act of marine-on-marine combat. He knew the Emperor would send the Space Wolves. The so-called "executioners" of the Astartes were his favourite choice to send as a reminder of his rule, though Raktra could never figure out why, given that each time it had been rumoured they had been sent out to curb the behaviours of other Primarchs they had returned with their tails between their legs and their task essentially failed. He recalled the famed "Night of the Wolf", told to him by Angron as they nursed their wounds after a drawn-out battle in the Conqueror's gladiatorial pits, and he recalled them laughing their broken laughs at the Wolves' ineptitude.

He gathered his men and marched out into the open as soon as long-ranged scanners detected a group of Astartes craft entering the atmosphere of Uran's moon, the location of their secondary outpost. What met the Berserkers on the ground was something they did not expect, and something that rattled them to the core - blood red Thunderhawks bearing sculpted white angel wings, and the ominous IX of the Blood Angels.

The angel led the host, Sanguinius walking in his beautifully graceful way towards his younger sibling. If his skin was naturally-coloured, Raktra would've turned sickly pale. Blood rushed through his ears as his twin hearts beat faster than he thought possible, drowning out the voice of Sanguinius as he tried to reason with him. Sanguinius reached out his hand to his brother to invite him in, Raktra stepped back, and in a moment of panic, uttered a command to his men. "FIRE." The battle was brutal. The Berserkers were far outmatched by the Blood Angels, even with the small element of surprise on their side. Raktra himself faired no better than his sons, throwing himself wildly at Sanguinius in a blind fear-induced rage, desperately trying to kill the man who embodied his only fear. Simply put, it didn't work. Raktra was ground into the dirt, the Grinder shattered along with his jaw and hand, and one eye carved out by a badly blocked sword strike. A foot on his spine kept him pinned down, and Sanguinius ordered his men to return to their ship before any more blood was shed by either side. Raktra scraped at the dirt and struggled to free himself, as the angel chastised him for his selfish and harmful ways. With one last breath of regret, Sanguinius followed the rest of the Blood Angels and left, and the Berserkers collected up their broken Primarch to be healed. This humiliation broke the last vestiges of loyalty that lay in Raktra's soul. In secret, he gathered those chapters who bore more trust in the works of their Primarch than the works of the Emperor, and lay down his plan; together, they would emancipate themselves from the Imperium. They would take the current pool of recruits still on Uran, and then raze the cities to the ground. They would find the Chaplains that professed the Imperial Truth to them, and they would put a bullet in their mouths. They would reinstate the priests of The Children, and grant them the genetic gifts of the Space Marines. They would take all the ships they could, and sink the rest into the galactic void. And finally, they would catapult themselves across the universe, evading retribution as best they could until they could mount a proper defence when they were inevitably found. And if their off-worlder elements stood in their way at any point, they would break them like children beneath a landslide. And so it went, and for the second time, the Emperor ordered the destruction of a Space Marine Legion from all records and memorials. The statue of their Primarch that once stood tall outside the entrance to the Imperial Palace was torn down, its empty plinth a grim reminder to the other Legions of the price of betrayal, echoing its II legion twin in disgrace. Many months of intensive psychic examination and soul-scrubbing performed by none other than Malcador himself assured the loyalty of the remaining Marines, and they found themselves placed into the hands of the Ultramarines, swelling their ranks to incredible numbers.

For the second time, the Emperor witnessed the hatred for him that could be born in his son's hearts. Had he saw the signs elsewhere, it could have also been the last.

[asklotarasarrin]

Wings and Bloody Things

The Conqueror sat at high archor, another star in the void above a world they had been collecting resources for the fleet. Their purpose here was really to wait for the Blood Angels.

Angron had not liked it one bit; he had declined the request to rendezvous outright the first time. When the second request came, this time with promises of help. The World Eater Primarch had given a moment of pause at that- while he would have had no hesitation to rip his brother limb from limb, the state of his flag captain could not be ignored, and his apothecaries had made little progress on their own. He told Kharn, more than once, Sanguinius could not take her, but he would tolerate his presence for a time.

When the Red Tear arrived, the Conqueror accepted the request to accept a boarding party, and they were escorted through the ship by the Kharn toward the apothecarion. It had been more than 100 years since the XIth Legion progenitor had set foot aboard the Conqueror. She had been called by a different name then- she was the Adamant Resolve, the proud flagship of the War Hounds.

Through monstrous double doors awaited Angron, the small gathering of medicae and an apothecary, and beyond them, was her. She hung suspended in the fluid in the amniotic tank that normally held severely wounded Astartes, her wrists manacled to the floor. A rebreather was strapped to her sleeping face, bubbles occasionally. Her long dark hair was a cloud around her, tumbling down her shoulders and back. A dozen IVs and wires ran from her body. The wings shifted periodically, twitching with the dreams that held her mind. One was bound and bandaged.

@the-ninth-son

[sigmaart39]

*OC* Velara Aldred, "The Amazon" Velara is a Terran Veteran from the XIth Legion, the Moon Maidens, that beared the rank of "Ur-Mel' Assad" (equivalent to other legion's First Captains) during the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy, being also the first Chapter Master of the Moon Maidens after the second founding.

She was one of the few Terrans that beared higher ranks after reuniting with their Primarch and adopting the Nixtali Culture and beliefs to the Legion, being more common seeing Nixtali Captains, and having an honour guard compossed only by Nixtali Maidens. Velara keep her Terran name instead of adopting a Nixtali name like her sisters, preserving her Terran heritage and serving the Legion with honour. She had a great reputation as swordmaster, prefering traditional Melee combat above any other fight style, being the gladius her prefered weapon.

Velara was also known as "The Amazon" among the Moon Maidens, for her service at the start of the Great Crusade when the XIth was known as "The Amazons", referencing the old-Terra myth about brave female warriors known by the same name.

[white-devil-of-uran]

The Bio of Raktra akarro aka the white devil of uran

Primarch: Raktra Akarro

Homeworld: Uran

Legion: XI

History: The gestation pod that housed the infant Primarch landed in the centre of a prison complex, obliterating a large portion of the structure with the impact of its landing and causing a mass breakout. As is typical of many large prisons, several dozen gangs had formed during their incarceration, one in particular calling themselves “The Children of Desolation”. Basing their faith on the belief that the haunting creatures colloquially named ‘angels’ that prowled the skies of Uran, descending upon the native humans at random for unknown purposes, were the heralds of apocalypse and the end of all life, they alone searched for the reason why their confines had been destroyed. Coming across the infant Primarch emerging from his capsule and tearing dozens of unnameable tubes from his flesh, they swept him away with them as they found a hiding place to lay low.

As time passed on, the young Raktra grew quickly, as all Primarchs did, and was soon strong enough to ram his fist completely through the body of the largest of creatures that opposed The Children and tear their hearts out in one swift motion. Witnessing his incredible development and terrifying strength, The Children began to herald him as their messiah, following his word and emulating his actions. Of course, being a child raised on the actions of psychotic death row criminals obsessed with their own impending doom, these actions became the stuff of underground nightmares before long. Eventually The Children began to impose their wills on the other gangs from the breakout, tracking them down and either threatening them into compliance or, more commonly, taking their loyalty by force. Raktra himself would challenge the ringleaders to personal combat, brutally crushing them and burning their bodies to ash to be used in The Children’s tradition of marking one’s flesh with the remains of their foes. By the time Raktra’s outlaws were ready to take their first city, he had tattooed himself so heavily with the ashes of his victims that his flesh was permanently stained the grubby white of old snow. Within the space of a few years, the vast majority of the planet was under the control of Raktra and his followers, and society showed it. The previously calm, if perpetually nervous, cities and settlements of Uran had become places of brutality and oppression, with anyone speaking out against the new regime silenced with a boot to the throat or a hammer to the temple. A sense of cold arrogance and perceived might spread throughout the populace, resulting in more and more people being stolen away by the Angels as they brazenly marched across previously avoided mesas and ignored warnings from spotters. Heeding the pleas of his closest advisors, Raktra gathered the most violent factions in The Children and made a declaration; they would draw them out and prove themselves to the Angels. For the first time in the history of their world, they would kill a flight of Angels, and in doing so send a message to the bastard creatures that had plagued them for so long that they would no longer roll over and accept their threat.

The Uran horde journeyed far and wide, desolist priests chanting rituals of warding and performing blood rituals to lend their brothers strength, the rest sharpening blades, loading guns and roaring in anticipation. Raktra stood at their head, a great motorised chain-blade shackled to his right hand and a lash of heavy chain gripped in his left. On the third day, as the sun broke through the shroud of the night, a great wind picked up around the assembled humans followed by the deafening sound of thousands of wings beating against the sky.

The world had become a spiral of blades, claws and gunfire before a normal man could even draw breath. The Angels lay about themselves with bird-like talons, rainbow-feathered wings and gobs of unnatural flame that simultaneously burned and froze those it struck. Some where able to resist where the desolists still stood, others finding themselves mysteriously invigorated by their wounds, but most fell screaming to the dirt as their corpses crystallised. The slowly-shrinking circle of killers pulled tighter and tighter against each other, slipping over the unbelievable mound of dead and bleeding underneath their boots, and as they confined themselves to what they believed was an inevitable death, salvation came.

Bolter rounds and volkite charges ripped through the monsters, inhumanly precise aim preventing any friendly fire even with the ridiculous amount of dirt and motion that surely had to be obscuring the vision of the new arrivals. With the tides turned and the Angels repelled, The Children finally got a clear view of their saviours.

Hulking, sea-green armoured warriors stamped towards them, at their head a pair of giants dressed in black and gold. The Children stared in awe and dropped to their knees, all except for Raktra who approached them with a curious glint in his eyes. The black-clad man nodded curtly to him, whilst the man in gold spread his arms and came closer.

“My son,” he said. “I have found you at last.”

Raktra met the already existing members of his Legion, and found himself disgusted by them. Examining their history and battle records, he saw how merciful they were in their invasions and how readily they would take and make comfortable their prisoners. Worse, he saw the glowing admiration that his supposed “father” heaped upon these actions, and felt his stomach churn. If these were to be his men, there could be no pity, no innocence. Any semblance of forgiveness had to be stamped out, by any means necessary.

New recruits were brought in from his home world and the Legion took on a shape more to his liking. The greater numbers of former members of The Children began to fill the ranks, and the combination of their violent culture and newly-enhanced bodies brought out a fire that the Uran people were keen to let wild upon the universe. Raktra, meanwhile, was versed in the ways of the Imperial armies, and educated by his Primarch brothers. Being the charmless bastard that he was, he forged few connections with those he bore genes with, and even those bonds were strained. The closest he came to respect were Ferrus Manus of the Xth, and later Angron of the XIIth, appreciating the brutal honesty and direct nature of the two, but little else, and the grim creature that was Mortarion, the only one he would call “brother”, though this was a rare occurrence. In Mortarion he found a similar set of core beliefs - that the universe was dark, life was bloody and everything died in the end. Of those he disliked, none were more hated than the lord of the IXth, the great Sanguinius. Though Raktra would never admit to it, seeing such a powerful and skilled fighter leading a force of so-called “angels” whilst appearing himself as an angel of some ancient Terran faith, clawed at him with the first feelings of fear he had ever known.

By the time they were prepared to venture out into the galaxy on their own, the XIth Legion had transformed their colours from a gentle duck-egg blue to the greying black of burnt coal, their arms a grubby white to link themselves to their Primarch, and to better show the blood spatter from the beatings they dealt out. Raktra himself had his chain blade modified and improved by Legion artificers, naming it “the Grinder”, and dressing for war in a loose-fitting suit of artificer armour that left his arms and head bare to maximise his range of motion when swinging his sword. His appearance matching his methods and his men finally suited to his needs, Raktra ordered his Legion’s old name expunged from all records, to be replaced by their new title - the Berserkers of Uran.

The Crusade ground on and Raktra became more and more distant from his brothers who were less appreciative of his methods than others. While that had no direct effect on his ability to wage war, rumblings of dissent began in his own Legion. Fractures between the various chapters grew wide, morally separating the native Uran recruits and the “off-worlders”. The Uran would trample over everything and everyone in their path, leaving the survivors to fend for themselves whereas the off-worlders would employ the typical Imperial tactic of rebuilding and re-educating the locals to assimilate them into the acceptable standards set down by the Emperor. Eventually the Legion barely resembled one coherent fighting force - if anything, it now operated as two demi-legions, and the gaze of the Emperor was drawn.

Hearing whispers and rumours and letting his own bitterness guide him, Raktra prepared his more 'loyal’ men for the then-almost-unheard of act of marine-on-marine combat. He knew the Emperor would send the Space Wolves. The so-called “executioners” of the Astartes were his favourite choice to send as a reminder of his rule, though Raktra could never figure out why, given that each time it had been rumoured they had been sent out to curb the behaviours of other Primarchs they had returned with their tails between their legs and their task essentially failed. He recalled the famed “Night of the Wolf”, told to him by Angron as they nursed their wounds after a drawn-out battle in the Conqueror’s gladiatorial pits, and he recalled them laughing their broken laughs at the Wolves’ ineptitude.

He gathered his men and marched out into the open as soon as long-ranged scanners detected a group of Astartes craft entering the atmosphere of Uran’s moon, the location of their secondary outpost. What met the Berserkers on the ground was something they did not expect, and something that rattled them to the core - blood red Thunderhawks bearing sculpted white angel wings, and the ominous IX of the Blood Angels.

The angel led the host, Sanguinius walking in his beautifully graceful way towards his younger sibling. If his skin was naturally-coloured, Raktra would’ve turned sickly pale. Blood rushed through his ears as his twin hearts beat faster than he thought possible, drowning out the voice of Sanguinius as he tried to reason with him. Sanguinius reached out his hand to his brother to invite him in, Raktra stepped back, and in a moment of panic, uttered a command to his men. “FIRE.”

The battle was brutal. The Berserkers were far outmatched by the Blood Angels, even with the small element of surprise on their side. Raktra himself faired no better than his sons, throwing himself wildly at Sanguinius in a blind fear-induced rage, desperately trying to kill the man who embodied his only fear. Simply put, it didn’t work. Raktra was ground into the dirt, the Grinder shattered along with his jaw and hand, and one eye carved out by a badly blocked sword strike. A foot on his spine kept him pinned down, and Sanguinius ordered his men to return to their ship before any more blood was shed by either side. Raktra scraped at the dirt and struggled to free himself, as the angel chastised him for his selfish and harmful ways. With one last breath of regret, Sanguinius followed the rest of the Blood Angels and left, and the Berserkers collected up their broken Primarch to be healed.

This humiliation broke the last vestiges of loyalty that lay in Raktra’s soul. In secret, he gathered those chapters who bore more trust in the works of their Primarch than the works of the Emperor, and lay down his plan; together, they would emancipate themselves from the Imperium. They would take the current pool of recruits still on Uran, and then raze the cities to the ground. They would find the Chaplains that professed the Imperial Truth to them, and they would put a bullet in their mouths. They would reinstate the priests of The Children, and grant them the genetic gifts of the Space Marines. They would take all the ships they could, and sink the rest into the galactic void. And finally, they would catapult themselves across the universe, evading retribution as best they could until they could mount a proper defence when they were inevitably found. And if their off-worlder elements stood in their way at any point, they would break them like children beneath a landslide.

And so it went, and for the second time, the Emperor ordered the destruction of a Space Marine Legion from all records and memorials. The statue of their Primarch that once stood tall outside the entrance to the Imperial Palace was torn down, its empty plinth a grim reminder to the other Legions of the price of betrayal, echoing its II legion twin in disgrace. Many months of intensive psychic examination and soul-scrubbing performed by none other than Malcador himself assured the loyalty of the remaining Marines, and they found themselves placed into the hands of the Ultramarines, swelling their ranks to incredible numbers.

For the second time, the Emperor witnessed the hatred for him that could be born in his son’s hearts. Had he saw the signs elsewhere, it could have also been the last.

[the-ninth-son]

The IXth son receives a formal request to meet from no less than the XIth, Lord Tiise of the Stalking Shrikes. Only a two years fresh from his 'homeworld', he'd spent almost half of that in the Imperial Palace for reasons unknown. Barely any had met him in the flesh. But now he's taken command of his Legion and is apparently eager to meet his brothers. [ @ask-citizen-71152 ]

Sanguinius’ brow furrowed as he read the request, messenger standing nervously within the circle of larger beings. “Hmmm,” he hummed as he thought it over, then he called, “Raldoron. Have a message sent back accepting the request. As soon as we get coordinates, I want to be ready to journey there.”

Raldoron bowed, “It shall be done at once.”