#does Perturabo have a last name? Could never find it

[hecateprime]

Rogue trader Hestia Dorn Von Valancius

Hestia Dorn is the daughter of the primarch Perturabo and Aristea Dorn and is the twin sister of Saskia and older sister to Remiel and Samael and is a loyalist who didn't follow her father to the heretic side.

When Hestia was in her early teens, the horus heresy broke out, causing a panic crowd to flee in terror in the imperium city which Hestia and her sister Saskia were caught in causing Saskia to get trampled to death when she was knocked down by a person which traumatized Hestia and lead to Aristea their mother depression. When Perturabo became a traitor primarch he kidnapped Aristea along with Hestia which traumatized her even more since Perturabo tried to torture her into joining his side which thankfully Hestia refused.

After escaping with her mother's help, who sadly stayed behind to distract Perturabo, she landed on a dormant planet for about a few days before being found by her uncle Zyatia and got her off the planet and reuniting with her uncles who didn't disappear killed or became heretics and her little brothers Remiel and Samael and stayed on Scyion to recover.

After years of recovering though still has trauma, Hestia decided to become a rogue trader since being on the imperium didn't feel right since her mother was gone and witnessing her sister's death made her go with the path which Thanatos let her make the decision since he didn't want her to feel lonely.

While going from ship to ship, she landed on the Von Valancius ship permanently and showing her loyalty and fighting before rogue trader starts

Hestia becomes the lord captain when Theodore was murdered and Kunrad betrayal which Hestia felt like she didn't deserve it but eventually accepting it and trying her best to keep her ship which she called the Dorn's wrath to honor her uncle Rogal and her mother from falling apart and eventually getting her team together and falling for the drukhari Marazhai despite her being told whem she was a kid that the drukhari and the Aeldari are the enemies but choose to ignore it plus she's an Iconoclast cause she wants to help

She is still around who aids her family from time to time and will make appearances in books if needed.

She does eventually finds out what happened to her mother Aristea and hates her father for it

In game appearance:

[quietbluejay]

Angel Exterminatus Take 2 #15

this time: as usual, both Bluejay and Perturabo want Perturabo dead, and we get the grand reveal about what's going on with Perturabo! (I mean. the fatigue. there's a lot of stuff going on with Perturabo)

time to flash back to the cliff

you know, from when his memory starts

buddy perturabo: maybe i should have just died as a child it would have been a net benefit for literally everyone especially me where do i even start with this

YOU IDIOT, YOURE GOING THE WRONG WAY oh actually fun fact this actually came up recently in a letter from the one substack i follow i don't remember the actual name for this fallacy but it's the "since what i'm doing is HARD that must mean it's the moral/correct choice, right?" "if i'm avoiding everything that could make my life easy, that's the best path"

Sky: Maybe the fact that Dorn didn’t engage in bloody trench warfare to the point of wrecking his legion should have been a sign to Pert that he didn’t need to and shouldn’t spend the lives of his sons like water? Bluejay: seee but that would have required actually thinking and changing course which is not something Perturabo knows how to do

"do you get it TRENCH WARFARE REALLY SUCKS" Perturabo's deeply salty that also nowhere in there were the IW commemorated by artists etc the Fists were, though! the one case was er

im laughing out loud for real here

incredible and that last line…

you mean, the past you're constantly haunted by?

perturabo's thoughts: i was heeding the warnings of the dead YOU'RE NOT, YOU DIMWIT

TemplarWarden: The funny thing is, could Fulgrim have escaped if he just abandoned him it's silly multidimensional stuff Bluejay: that's a good question

me about perturabo right now:

im rotating him in a microwave with a fork Perturabo meanwhile is pondering "she who thirsts" because

i- you know what, the jokes just write themselves i don't need to say anything is anyone surprised this is the case in the gamer legion Perturabo's reached the bottom though but not rock bottom! it's very pretty

very cool looking in various ways

oh yeah

green sun

this came out in 2016 we know McNeill is a weeb but was he also a homestuck? (i'm not saying this as an insult being both a weeb and former homestuck here)

Perturabo finds Fulgrim staring at the green sun

yeah im feeling some homestuck vibes here

i am the x. it is me.

back upstairs, forrix is fighting the ghosts and not doing super well

a thing of beauty when we've repeatedly talked about how ugly it is sure, whatever helps you sleep at night and it probably does! they're fighting like a well oiled machine but one that's starting to break down just like this metaphor oh okay, that's kinda cool Forrix tanks a tank

Forrix does almost die to a flamethrower though but Vull Bronn saves him at the last minute and it's time for Toramino to show up! but we're cutting back to the drama underground Fulgrim has started floating that's never a good sign he tells Perturabo that he always lacked vision which is correct

however, his terrible fatigue and weakness are back bro, i feel that

maugetar means harvester, it turns out yes as was foreshadowed, the stone has been draining him of energy this whole time!

Sky:

Perturabo Mightiest of us all

Wut Perturabo is a lot of thing, but the most personally powerful of the Primarchs???

Bluejay: he's got the most life energy that's what he means either that or Fulgrim just. miscalculated. perturabo isn't usually the first one who comes to mind when you think of endurance and internal reserves though yeah Sky: …but life energy in 40K is just either bioelectricity or warp energy Bluejay: of all the 40k rules this book has broken w.r.t. the Eldar, you think it's going to be consistent here? Sky: okay fair

Checkerheart: Fulgrim isn't usually the first one who comes to mind when you think of math skills and logical reasoning Bluejay: hey, fulgrim would like you to know he's smart! he knows what a fibonacci sequence is and everything second response: he's still smarter than perturabo

Sky: I’m just going to assume Fulgrim is lying again because it amuses him, and the real reason is that Pert was just the only Primarch dumb enough to be convinced to make this trip

Why is Fulgrim not using that to mock Pert? IDK, he’s on warp drugs or w/e

TinyGladiator: I could see if Fulgrim literally just doing this to fuck with Perturabo's ego

this is funnier because every time Horus thinks about Perturabo in these books he's going "ugh, him"

Sky: Lol imagine if Pert had died here

I don’t think Horus would be personally upset at losing Perturabo but he would definitely be upset at losing a Primarch and a Legion

And cracking Terra without Pert is…not impossible, given how much warp nonsense Sol was drowning in by the end of the Siege, but definitely harder

Bluejay: it's just funny he goes for Perturabo as being valuable because of being important to other people when he's the one that no one really cares about perturabo is also still dealing with the serious fatigue

Fulgrim: yeah so i'm not the same person you knew Fulgrim: it allll started with the Laer Fulgrim: turns out the gods they worship are real!

lol lmao also calling a keeper of secrets a god Fulgrim: yeah so i got possessed by one Fulgrim: ew Fulgrim: we eventually learned…compromise

fulgrim is now t-posing in midair and all the soulstones in the walls start flying towards him because that may as well happen with an effort, Perturabo manages to get to his feet, he'd rather die standing up and you know what, if i have suffer this so do you it's not that i think it's badly written per se but it makes my skin crawl

fulgrim, i'm begging you to be a little less weird about this

also i'm thinking about "why perturabo, specifically" a) he's dumb enough to fall for this b) he did in fact need him for labyrinth thing c) discount Ferrus

back on the surface, Forrix gets trapped under Perturabo's exploding car at least that's what i think is going on yep juuust as Toramino starts firing at them

you know, I genuinely thought Forrix died first time around I didn't know he had plot armour next time: some focus on my beloved son going full Khorne, and not one but TWO meme edits. Check out the next Iron Warriors Comedy Hour for more bad jokes and also Fulgrim caressing Perturabo's face before stabbing him. Maybe eventually we'll get to thanksgiving turkey soulstone fulgrim, but that's still a bit of a ways off.

[ask-the-crimson-king]

More Stuff from Betrayer

[While on the topic, I want to show the various humans out there a very interesting scene out of Betrayer.

Two, technically, but one that's a bit longer than the other. Image IDs will be provided at the end of the post, cause there's going to be a LOT.

Some interesting insights into how Lorgar views Chaos and a bit about the Emperor as well. I always find this scene to be fascinating, especially since he's borrowed the astropathic choir of the Conquerer to listen to worlds dying across Ultramar while he muses on this.

And then there's when Angron walks up.

Some interesting, albeit a bit morbid, banter between brothers. I do like how Angron even greets Lorgar on the way in, and Lorgar is just standing there stunned. The insights into how Angron views the Devourers is also neat, and it is to be expected at this point. Lorgar trying to argue for them and trying to get Angron to stop ignoring them outright is another neat touch.

The two begin talking of Ultramar, and Lorgar reveals that Nuceria is going to be the capstone for his ritual. Angron asks why, and the following is said:

I like this passage for a few reasons. Firstly, how Angron "dreams" has always been something of interest to me. Because I doubt he ever really gets much rest and respite. Here we get some insight into this, although this also was already expressed a bit earlier. This passage also leads into Angron's recollection of the Night of the Wolf, but I wanted to focus on this.

Lorgar and Angron's "bond" is something that's always intrigued me. It definitely feels more one-sided, with Lorgar seeking for brotherhood that isn't really there, but there are a few moments to make it feel a bit more genuine. However, there is still something missing from these interactions. I can't really describe it other than a barrier between two primarchs who will never see eye-to-eye. Lorgar does, to his credit, try to be understanding and patient throughout, but I can also definitely feel his annoyance coming through at certain places.

In a way, I can almost feel a similar sort of vibe to how Magnus interacts with some of his brothers. Namely with Perturabo in one of the opening chapters of his primarch novel. However, the bond between those two is still very different from the one Angron has with Lorgar; those two actually do have a deep connection, while these two don't. There's a misunderstanding and underestimation coming from both sides in certain aspects; Lorgar in almost sounding condescending to Angron, and Angron still thinking Lorgar a weakling.

TL;DR, Betrayer good.

Image IDs below the cut:

Image ID 1 & 2: A scene from Betrayer where Lorgar is standing and listening to worlds burn. It reads:

Serving as conductor for an astrological orchestra was more taxing than he’d dreamed, though his blunter, more militant brothers would struggle to grasp the finer points of his efforts. Exhaustion left him wondering, even if only briefly, whether absolute peace would create a stellar song as divinely inspired as absolute war. Fate had played its hand and Chaos was destined to swallow all creation whether or not Horus and Lorgar raged against the Imperial war machine, but if what if they’d stayed loyal to the Emperor? What then? Would the Great Crusade have shaped a serene funeral dirge, to play behind the veil as humanity died in a defenceless harrowing?

Therein lay the fatal flaw. The Emperor’s way was compliance, not peace. The two were as repellent to one another as opposing lodestones. It didn’t matter what enlightenment the Imperium stamped out in its conquering crusade when obedience was all its lords desired. It didn’t matter what wars were fought from now into eternity. The Legiones Astartes would always march, for they were born to do so. There would always be war; even if the Great Crusade had been allowed to reach the galaxy’s every edge, there would never be peace. Discontent would seethe. Populations would rebel. Worlds would rise up. Human nature eventually sent men and women questing for the truth, and tyrants always fell to the truth.

No peace. Only war.

Lorgar felt his blood run cold. Only war. Those were words to echo into eternity.

He didn’t trust the Ten Thousand Futures the way Erebus claimed to. Too many possibilities forked from every decision made by every living thing. What use was prophecy when all it offered was what might happen? Lorgar was not so devoid of imagination that he needed the warp’s twisting guesswork to show him that. Anyone with an iota of vision could imagine what might happen. Genius lay in engineering events according to one’s own goals, not in blindly heeding the laughter of mad gods.

More than that, Lorgar sought to keep one thing in mind above all else. The gods were powerful, without doubt, but they were fickle beings. Each worked against its own kin more often than not, spilling conflicting prophecies into their prophets’ minds. Perhaps they weren’t even sentient in the way a mortal mind could encompass. They seemed as much the manifestations of primal emotion as they did individual essences.

But no, there was a wide gulf between hearing them and heeding them. Gods lied, just like men. Gods deceived and clashed and sought to advance their own dominions over their rivals’. Lorgar trusted none of their prophecies.

Image ID 3-5: A series of screenshots from Betrayer. Angron comes into the scene. It reads:

Angron entered the basilica, armoured in his usual stylised bronze and ceramite and with two oversized chainswords strapped to his back. He even wasted time with a greeting, raising his hand in the first time Lorgar could ever remember such a gesture from his broken brother. The Word Bearer tried not to let his amazement show at his brother’s new consideration.

‘Lotara says you stole her astropathic choir.’ Angron’s lipless smile was a ghastly thing indeed. ‘I see that she may have been correct.’

‘Stole is a strong word. “Appropriated” seems much less ignoble.’ Lorgar spared a glance for the skies above the cathedral, as the Lex ripped onwards towards Nuceria.

‘What do you need them for?’ Angron asked. His wounds from being buried alive had already faded to scrunched scar tissue pebbling his flesh, just another host of scarring to overlay the last.

The Devourers lurked behind him, stomping into the cathedral without the primarch sparing them a glance. To be one of Angron’s bodyguards was no honour, despite how fiercely the World Eaters’ champions had fought for it in the first, optimistic years. Angron ignored them no matter where they went, never once fighting alongside them in battle. In their Terminator plate, they’d never managed to keep up with their liege lord, and they were as prone to losing control as any other World Eater, meaning any hope of them fighting as an organised pack was a forlorn one at best.

Lorgar watched the Devourers – those warriors who’d spent a century learning to swallow their pride and pretend they weren’t ignored – speaking amongst themselves at the basilica’s entrance.

‘Hail,’ he greeted them. They seemed uneasy at being addressed, offering hesitant and wordless bows.

Angron snorted at his brother acknowledging them. ‘Bodyguards,’ he said. ‘Even their name annoys me. “Devourers”, as if I’d named them myself – as if they were the Legion’s finest.’

‘Their intentions are pure,’ Lorgar pointed out. ‘They seek to honour you. It’s not their fault you leave them behind in every battle.’

‘They’re not even the Legion’s fiercest fighters, any more. That rogue Delvarus refuses to challenge for a place in their ranks. Khârn laughed when I asked him if he’d ever considered it. And do you know Bloodspitter?’

‘I know Bloodspitter,’ Lorgar replied. Everyone knew Bloodspitter.

‘He beat one of them in the pits, and carved his name into the poor bastard’s armour with a combat knife.’

Lorgar forced a smile. ‘Yes. Delightful.’

Angron’s face wrenched again, at the mercy of misfiring muscles. ‘What primarch ever needed guarding by lesser men?’

‘Ferrus,’ Lorgar said softly. ‘Vulkan.’

Angron laughed, the sound rich and true, yet harsh as a bitter wind. ‘It’s good to hear you joke about those weaklings. I was getting bored of you mourning them.’

It was no joke, but Lorgar had no desire to shatter his brother’s fragile good humour. ‘I only mourn the dead,’ Lorgar conceded. ‘I don’t mourn Vulkan.’

‘He’s as good as dead.’ The World Eater smiled again. ‘I’m sure he wishes he were. Now, what are you doing with Lotara’s choir?’

‘Listening to them sing of other worlds and other wars.’

Angron stared, unimpressed. ‘Specifics,’ he said, ‘while I have the patience to hear such details.’

‘Just listen,’ Lorgar replied.

Angron did as he was bid. After a minute or more had passed, he nodded once. ‘You’re listening to the Five Hundred Worlds burning.’

‘Something like that. These are the voices of the freshly dead, and those soon to join them. The mortis-moments of random souls, elsewhere in Ultramar, as our fleets ravage their worlds.’

‘Morbid, priest. Even for you.’

‘We’re inflicting this destruction on them. We mustn’t consider ourselves distant from it. It may not be our hands holding the bolters and blades, but we are still the architects of this annihilation. It’s our place to listen to it, to remember the martyred dead, and to meditate on all we’ve wrought.’

‘I wish you well with it,’ said Angron. ‘But why steal Lotara’s choir? What happened to yours?’

‘They died.’

It was Angron’s turn to be surprised. ‘How did they die?’

‘Screaming.’ Lorgar showed no emotion at all. ‘What brings you here, brother?’

Image ID 6 & 7: Two screenshots from later in the previous scene, when Angron asks 'Why Nuceria?'. It reads:

‘The metaphysics are complicated,’ said Lorgar.

That had Angron growling. ‘I may not have wasted days in debate with you and Magnus inside our father’s Palace, but the Nails haven’t left me an absolute fool. I asked the question, Lorgar. You answer it. And do so without lying, if you can manage such a feat.’

The Word Bearer met his brother’s eyes, and the rarely-seen palette of emotions within their depths. Pain was there in abundance, but so was the frustration of living with a misfiring mind, and the savagery that transcended anger itself. Angron was a creature that had come to make his hatred a blade to be used in battle. He’d weaponised his own emotions, where most living beings were slaves to theirs. Lorgar couldn’t help but admire the strength in that.

‘We’re going to Nuceria,’ he said, ‘because of you. Because of the Nails.’

Angron stared, and his silence beckoned for his brother to continue.

‘They’re killing you,’ Lorgar admitted. ‘Faster than I thought. Faster than anyone realised. The rate of degeneration has accelerated even in the last few months. Your implants were never designed for a primarch’s brain matter. Your physiology is trying to heal the damage as the Nails bite deeper, but it’s a game of pushing and pulling, with both sides evenly matched.’

Angron took this with an impassive shrug. ‘Guesswork.’

‘I can see souls and hear the music of creation,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘In comparison, this is nothing. The Twelfth Legion’s archives are comprehensive enough, you know. Your behaviour tells the rest of the tale, along with the pain I sense radiating from you each and every time we meet. Your entire brain is remapped and rewired, slaved to the implants’ impulses. Tell me, when was the last time you dreamed?’

‘I don’t dream.’ The answer was immediate, almost fiercely fast. ‘I’ve never dreamed.’

Lorgar’s gentle eyes caught the warp’s kaleidoscopic light as he tilted his head. ‘Now you’re lying, brother.’

‘It’s no lie.’ Angron’s thick fingers twitched and curled, closing around the ghosts of weapons. ‘The Nails scarcely let me sleep. How would I dream?’

Lorgar didn’t miss the rising tension in his brother’s body language – the veins in his temples rising from scarred skin, the feral hunch of the shoulders, no different from a hunting cat drawing into a crouch before it struck.

‘You once told me the Nails stole your slumber,’ Lorgar conceded, ‘but you also said they let you dream.’

Angron took a step closer. He started to say ‘I meant…’ but Lorgar’s earthy glare stopped him cold.

‘They give you a serenity and peace you can find nowhere else. Humans, legionaries, primarchs… everything alive must sleep, must rest, must allow its brain a period of respite. The remapping of your mind denies you this. You don’t dream with your eyes closed. You dream with your eyes open, chasing the rush of whatever peace the Nails can give you.’ Lorgar met Angron’s eyes again. ‘Don’t insult us both by denying it. You slaver and murmur when you kill, mumbling about chasing serenity and how close it feels. I’ve heard you. I’ve looked into your heart and soul when you’re lost to the Nails. Your sons, with their crude copies of your implants, have their minds rewritten to feel joy only in adrenaline’s kiss. Those lesser implants cause pain because they scrape the nerves raw, thus your World Eaters kill because it gladdens their reforged hearts, and ceases the pain knifing into their muscles. Your Butcher’s Nails are a more sinister and predatory design, ruining all cognition, stealing any peace. They are killing you, gladiator. And you ask why I’m taking you back to Nuceria? Is it not obvious?’

End Image ID.]

[screamingatthevoid]

Archamus

Between @the-happy-hellbrute and @mrsdorn, I’ve recently been reminded how much I enjoyed Praetorian of Dorn and how irritatingly not-awful Dorn was in it. To compound my blasphemies against Perturabo, I then wrote a fic about the Imperial Fists. What have I become?

It’s a 40k fic, but contains sort-of spoilers for Praetorian of Dorn? Also the Beast Arises, but I feel like everyone already knows what happens to the Imperial Fists in that...

[Archamus on AO3] [My works on AO3]

“Who cannot remember the past is condemned to repeat it.��

970.M41 Phalanx, in orbit above Drashin

THE EMPEROR’S CHAMPION bars the entrance to the Temple of Oaths. His hands rest on the pommel of the Black Sword, the sacred blade held at rest, but never sheathed. That blade, once wielded by Chapter Master Koorland, has stood vigil over the temple for over nine thousand years.   Within the temple, Vorn Hagen considers the meaning of the blade and its bearer. His perspective has changed recently, and the new knowledge itches like the raw flesh of his scarred left hand. Since swearing his oath, he has learned that the Black Templars send the Emperor’s Champion to guard the temple not in memory of Sigismund, but as a reminder to the Master of the Imperial Fists.

  The Imperial Fists have died before.   They are no less sons of Dorn, and Hagen cannot dishonour the other successors by feeling diminished, but the burden weighs heavily on him. It feels like a betrayal that the truth was only revealed after he had carved his name into the hand of Rogal Dorn. Could he have done it, if he had known? All that is left now is to live up to the stolen legacy as best he can. To regain the certainty he felt when he made his mark next to that of his predecessor, Vladimir Pugh.   He will need to return to the pain glove soon, to meditate on his doubts. Until then, there are many duties that vie for the attention of the new Chapter Master. Perhaps none so solemn as the oath he is about to receive.   Hagen takes up steel and flint from the edge of the brazier before him. Sparks ignite a blaze that illuminates pillars of black stone, each bearing a spiral of names that rises up into the darkness from which the banners of a thousand victories hang.   “Approach and enter,” the Emperor’s Champion intones, stepping to one side of the archway to allow the bulk of a warrior in indomitus-pattern terminator armour to enter. The lingering echo of heavy footsteps in the vaulted chamber fades as the Sergeant of the Huscarls stops two paces from the brazier.   Like Hagen, Jorgen Santus wears no helm and carries no weapon. Sergeant and Chapter Master lock eyes across the flickering fire.   “I summoned the Master of the Huscarls.”   Santus does not reply. He reaches into the folds of his cloak and produces a skeletal left hand clenched into a fist suspended from a length of silver chain. The bones are finely scrimshawed, centuries of service recounted in intricate script. Each of the surviving Huscarls will have been given the honour of carving a passage, Santus himself finishing the last words before the preparations for Lord Pugh’s interment began.   Hagen saw Archamus fall. He will hear how it happened again, though that is not what truly matters. It only matters why.   “Did he fulfil his oath as Praetorian of Vladimir Pugh?”

Archamus swung Oathword into the oncoming tide of gaunts, the dense stone of a dead world shattering chitinous plates and crushing abominable xeno-flesh. It bought him precious seconds to get his bearings. Over the swarming Tyranids he saw a golden phalanx advancing into the chamber headed by Captain Lysander. If they could link up with Lord Pugh’s forces, they might yet succeed in reaching the Norn Queen. Like a monstrous spider lurking at the centre of its web, she was more than just the focal node of the swarm – to all intents and purposes, she was the swarm.   Lord Pugh must have reached the same conclusion, for he raised the Hand of Judgement and cried “Forward!” The remains of the first and fifth companies rallied behind him.   Larger beasts pressed forward in ever greater numbers, the sea of gaunts parting at the will of the hive mind to allow them to reach the Imperial Fists. Perceiving the danger, the Norn Queen sent forth a hive tyrant to block the Chapter Master’s path. Pugh was thrown back by the sheer bulk of the beast as it charged, and the Huscarls hurried to his side.   “Santus, Donadar – with me!” Archamus called to the nearest of Pugh’s honour guard. He could not risk distracting the Chapter Master from the duel with the tyrant, but there were other, less obvious threats to guard against.   Hidden by the bulk of the hive tyrant, a carnifex was lumbering forward with deadly momentum. Archamus moved to intercept, flanked by Santus and Donadar, raising a shield wall in the path of the living battering ram. It was too late for the carnifex to steer aside and it collided with the locked storm shields of the Huscarls with the roar of a predator denied its prey. The thunderous impact sent Santus and Donadar staggering backwards.   Protected by the unmatched craftsmanship of the Shield Eternal, Archamus held his ground. It was this that doomed him. Even as he raised Oathword to strike a blow in retaliation, the carnifex scythed its great, curved talons down over the edge of the shield. A blade sharper than bone had any right to be sliced through the armourflex seal at the shoulder, exposed by Archamus’ backswing, and plunged deep into his torso behind the cuirass. The other slammed into his head, skittering across the helm’s ceramite plate to lodge between neck and shoulder.   Archamus felt his left arm go limp. The Shield Eternal wavered. Seeing its opening, the carnifex landed a flurry of blows with its secondary blade-limbs, feral rage driving them through the joints in otherwise inviolate armour. As he fell, the Master of the Huscarls saw Lord Pugh step forward over the hive tyrant’s corpse with the Huscarls at his side. Without the element of surprise, and with talons still embedded in Vladimir Pugh’s Praetorian, the carnifex had no defence to offer as the Master of the Imperial Fists raised the Hand of Judgement to strike.

Vorn Hagen is silent for a long moment. His eyes give no clue to his thoughts as he considers what he has been told. It is curious to hear the tale told as one of victorious sacrifice when he knows that mere moments later Lord Pugh was claimed by the claws of other enemies. Whether for a second or a century, a moment or a millennium, it is the duty of the Praetorian to die so that the Master of the Imperial Fists may live. The oath was fulfilled, and Hagen judges that there is no cause to interfere with the succession.   “Do you wish to give me your oath as my Praetorian?”   Sergeant Santus answers by stepping forward and removing the gauntlet from his left hand. He meets Hagen’s eyes and does not flinch as he thrusts his bared fist into the brazier. The fire crackles as it claws at exposed flesh.   “What are you afraid of?” Hagen asks. It is a curious question for a space marine to be confronted with. He wonders what answer he would find worthy. He wonders what answers have been given to others before him, and if he would agree with his predecessors. The answer to that question is the only part of the exchange not recorded in the chapter archives.   “Repeating the mistakes of the past,” Santus replies without hesitation. “Allowing my errors to persist, when they should inform my betterment.”   The ghost of a smile crosses stern features. Hagen knows truth when he hears it spoken and nods, approving. He does not doubt the question has gnawed at the Sergeant as it has him, and is pleased, even impressed, with the clarity, the surety, of the answer. It is a matter that has been on his own mind of late. Removing his left gauntlet, he grasps the blackened fist of his new Praetorian.   “What name would you have?”   “Archamus.”