#templarhalo's fanfiction

[templarhalo]

Share 10 facts about an OC of your choice, please! :)

Oh God which OC, I have so many.......

Well I was  writing the fic she's the protag in earlier  so, my Warhammer OC Marcella Agosti, Astropath, useless lesbian, bane of many a witch   who underestimated her. 

I cannot draw even if you put a gun to my head , so here's a rough approximation based on this cool viking doll maker I think is no longer up thanks to adobe flash no longer being a thing

And here’s another version made with a dollmaker that wasn’t taken out back and shot alongside adobe flash.

https://www.dolldivine.com/mage-character-creator.php

Anyway quick, layman's summary for those not into Warhammer 40k. An Astropath is a special psyker, aka those who wield magic in space, which because 40k is well grimdark, means psykers have a serious risk of your head asplode, via daemon.

As Astropaths are responsible for sending and receiving messages across solar systems so humanity's various worlds can communicate, coordinate and stuff, having their heads reduced to lubricous gibs and having a bunch of these

running around wherever the Astropaths do their thing are is very Bad. Bad's actually an understatement, Daemon's running around in the real world in Warhammer 40k is peak "Nuke the site from orbit it's the only way to be sure." and in 40k the Imperium can't always afford to dawdle nuking from orbit, regardless if innocent people are still on the world.

Anyway, to prevent that from happening potential Astropaths are brought before the Emperor of Mankind, who while He(that he has a capital H for a reason) never viewed himself as a god even though He ran around looking like this,

nevertheless was worshipped as one after one of his sons basically fell to the Dark side, and put him on life support

He now looks like this

Anyway potential Astropaths are brought before the Emperor to be soul-bound, an extremely painful, traumatic process in which the Emperor lodges a tiny fragment of His immense power into an Astropath. As the Emperor is a millennia old being, so powerful all the other well, Gods in 40k are pretty terrified of Him, even in his crippled state, this process is a potentially fatal one at worst, or at best can leave a potential Astropath, a gibbering insane wreck, and thus, only good as a sacrifice to the Golden Throne that sustains Emps.

Anyway for those like who survive like Marcella, they are often rendered blind by the soul-binding, as having a fragment of Emps's power lodged in your skull and in your soul, tends to rupture delicate things like your opptic nerves. Most astropaths also find their other senses like hearing or taste weakened. 

However thanks to their  psychic abilities, Astropaths are more than capable of getting around, though many use their force staff's or a cane along with Servo-skulls to help navigate their surroundings. Some very rare  Astropaths rise to  positions of influence or power and are able to have their eyes replaced by obscenely expensive augmetic replacements.  Rarer few are the Astropaths who are able to retain  their eyes.     Regardless most Astropaths undergo what can be best described as a religious experience, and have their personalities altered in some way by their sheer trauma of the ritual.

However those that survive have reduced influence at succumbing to daemonic possession or having the heads go pop, not to mention their psychic abilities are greatly boosted, allowing an Astropath to more than hold their own on the battlefield despite not being psyker's trained for combat.

Anyway now that info dumps out of the way, here's ten facts about Marcella.

1. Marcella's soul-binding gave her an unshakeable faith in Emps. The saying "The Emperor Protects" is quite literal for her, as there's a fragment of Him inside her soul and rattling around in her skull. As such, she takes a great deal of the horrors of 40k in stride and is deeply devout, much of her free time is taken up by prayer, mediation and theological study 

2. Following up on that, Marcella refuses to cover up her burned-out eye sockets unless its absolutely necessary for a mission or its for sexy times in the bedroom. The idea the result of the Emperor's actions makes people uncomfortable, is absurd to her. To Marcella, her eyes are a holy stigmata, and a reassurance of her own self-worth.

3. Marcella is an avid reader, and owns a number of theological and erotic texts in braille

4. Marcella's most prized possession is her rather nice fur shawl. It was a gift from one of her instructors after she was judged ready for her soul-binding.  As  most void ships and stations aren’t evenly heated, due to power requirements and other factors,  its  a very practical gift. 

5. Marcella's favorite drink is black tea with plenty of milk and sugar.  Foodwise, she follows the Mt. Athos diet basically, though wine is substituted by non-alcholic cider and plenty of water.    An astropath’s diet, especially one in the service of an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, like herself,  has to be nutritious and supply plenty of energy.   

6.  She wears her hair about waist length.  Most sanctioned psykers have neural implants to blunt their power, which necessitates a shaved head but Marcella has no need for such devices due to her soul-binding and later having hexagrammic wards etched into her bones.   

7.   Jewelry for her is simple iron studs used to hang long strips of parchment with  prayers and wards.  Marcella doesn’t spend her money jewlry, she prefers to spend it  on books, candles and incense, along with blankets, because you can never have enough of those.

8. As she is physically blind, Marcella is aided by  a servo-skull named Aetius .  He  acts as a seeing dog, and helps her with her hair, helps her brew tea, lights the candles and incense  in her room and other various duties.   

9.  Marcella has two mom’s both Imperial Guardsman,  one  Catchan, (Mairinn) the other Mordian. (Amilya)   She her Catachan Mom’s knife and both their wedding  bands.  The knife and wedding bands are all she has left of them, as they were killed by a traitor Primaris Psyker, when she was about eight or so, and than she was scooped aboard a  Black Ship not long after. 

10.  As mentioned earlier Marcella is a lesbian.  She likes her ladies swole.  Piety in the Emperor  and being good at cuddling and aftercare are musts for any potential partner.  

Some Bonus facts, because  today was a good day.

11.   Marcella is 19 years  Terran (Earth) years old.   She was soul bound at 17

12. Marcella is not particularly ambitious, though when she is too old to fight or handle the strain of Astrotelepathic communications, she hopes she will be allowed to become a sacrifice to the Golden Throne, and give back a little to Emps, as she’s incredibly grateful to Him for giving her a purpose and unbreakable certainty 

13.  Marcella’s best friend is a  Space Marine,   a Blackshield of the Deathwatch to be precise , by the name of Regenus.   Due to a past that is dramatic as it is traumatic,  Regenus is a brooding figure who like Marcella finds solace and a hobby in worship of the Emperor.   While he knows Marcella isn’t made of glass, he’s very protective of her, on and off the battlefield, especially because in the grimdarkness of the far future there are still gross men who don’t seem to understand. “Apologies but I’m not interested in men” unless  a seven foot tall genetically engineered killing machine is glaring daggers at them.    

14. Outside of her telepathy, Marcella is well versed in  a few different psychic abilities.  Her most useful ability is able to  dissipate enemy psychic attacks, by acting as a lightening rod so to speak. (Tabletop 40k players would know this as “Denying the witch”    A  Chaos Space Marine Sorcerer tried to force lightening her and the retinue one time, only to have his power do nothing because she  absorbed it, than hurled litanies and prayers at him  with such faith he started bleeding from the ears a little.    It wasn’t a good day for him, and it got worse because than he got riddled with bolt rounds and lasbolts, than set on fire for good measure.   Though it takes a lot out of her,  Marcella is capable of severing a psyker or Daemon’s connection to the Warp  and can close cracks in real space  and small warp portals.  

15. Marcella is not musically inclined, but she enjoys music, in particularly a lot of  religious chanting and pslams.   When she’s in her station  in between sending or receiving astropathic messages, she often has chants and hymmns playing through a vox speaker.   (Think Gregorian chants, that sort of thing, )

Anyway @ocfairygodmother thanks for asking about my OC!  Its always nice to ramble a little about them. 

[melody-chii]

Have you read For those we cherish? Its a Warhammer 40k/RWBY crossover with the Lamenters being awesome.

DUDE IT’S SO GREAT, ISN’T IT??? AND THE REGIMENTAL STANDARD OMAKES ARE SO FUNNY!! AND THE MOST RECENT CHAOTER!! THE ENDING?!?! ASKDJFLSK MALAKIIIIIIIIIM WHYYYYYYY ;.; *weeps unceasingly*

But yes, here is a link for those who don’t know this amazing work. https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/for-those-we-cherish-40k-rwby.408155/

[templarhalo]

The things that suprise you as a Military History Nerd

https://mwi.usma.edu/2014913designing-a-shoulder-patch-for-supreme-headquarters-allied-expeditionary-force/

That this

Hasn’t been used as a symbol for LGBT people, particularly those serving in the military. 

Anyway neat patch,  gonna have El slap one of these on  a jacket Max gets her in my ST fic Project :Agoge  because I headcanon she’s a bisexual disaster and I am a nerd  .  

[templarhalo]

The Game goes on(It never ended, not for me, and certainly not for you, my sweet Red Wolf)

@aegor-bamfsteel and all the Jonsa shippers, this is for you.   This is part  of a larger fic, that will be up on Archive of Our Own in the next Twenty years.

This is not my husband.  Sansa thinks as her good-brother and king, hands her an urn containing a third of her husband’s ashes.     

 These are not the hands that stroked my hair,  cupped my breasts when we made love, held our children. This is not my husband  Sansa thinks

She puts a hand to her belly. Her  final child would arrive in this world soon

This son or daughter will never see his face,  never be held by him.  Never be taught to use a sword or ride a horse by him.

Her brother Robb is handed the second urn.   As per Targaryen cutsom, Jon had been cremated.  He had been dressed in his best plate, an iron longsword laid in his hands and his body  placed upon a pyre lit by wildfire.  Sansa feels a flicker of grim humor at the substance used to burn their grandfather and Uncle alive is used to help lay her husband and cousin to  rest.  

 Jon’s ashes have been divided into three portions.  One to be placed beside his sire the dead, forever damned Prince Rhaegar.  Another to lay beside his mother’s tomb in Winterfell.  The third is Sansa’s.  Her own ashes will join his one day.  

But not today.  Sansa thinks as she surveys the crowd.   There is no shortage of mourners for the King’s Hand.   Her love, had been beloved by the highborn and the commoners.    

Nor was there a shortage of nieces and nephews to  serve as pallbearers.  Sansa added in her mind.  Robb, Bran, Rickon and Arya had had no shortage of children.   and Queen Maergary, Jon’s Aunt Daenerys and sister Rhaeyns had bore their husbands many sons and daughters as well.   Jon had been happy to be a doting, indulgent Uncle, supplying advice and aiding his nieces and nephews in the mischief they had wrought..

Lords from the Crownlands to  the Wall, told him they would name their sons after him.  He always laughed and told they could pick a better name. He cannot jokingly forbid them now.

Prince Maekar, a boy of three and ten as angry and sullen as his namesake had wept openly.  Jon had been one of the few people besides Arya’s eldest son Beric and his own sister Olenna who could get him to smile.  Sansa doubted he would ever smile again. 

King Aegon masked his guilt and grief well, for he is the King, and the King cannot openly express his maelstrom of emotions. Nor he can he say out loud that naming his brother Hand  led to his  murder.  The Crown Prince, Jaeharys is trying to copy his father, but the boy of five and ten cannot stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks.

Sansa did not just grieve for her husband but for her husband’s Sworn Sword  Ser Florian Bracken who had died alongside Jon.  Florian was wed to one of Sansa’s ladies in waiting, Myrella Blackwood, and it was he had broached the topic of betrothing Sansa and Jon’s daughter Lyarra to his cousin,  the Lord of Stone Hedge’s son Jonos.  The Knight would never see the two wed. nor would he see his sole surviving son, Marcus be dubbed a Knight.

Whoever did this will die screaming.  Sansa thinks.  Winter will come for them.  Fire and Blood will come for them.  I will never see my Jon again.  Never feel his warmth or hear him laugh.  My children have  lost a father, and until we find who did this, they are in danger. They will be angry and afraid until whoever dared to kill my husband and his Sworn Shield with arrows and bolts and sword and dagger is brought to justice 

She glances at her her eldest son.  He sweet,dutiful Artos, who looked just like his father.  He was Lord of Moat Cailn, Knight-Warden of the North and Shield of the Neck now.  His father’s sword was now his.  All his father’s responsibilities save for that of the King’s Hand were now his.

It is cruel for him to take up Jon’s mantle now.  He is barely six and ten.  Sansa thinks.

Now older than Jon was when you sent him off to slay Lions and Krakens and duel Others and Wildlings.  A voice in the back of her mind whispers cruelly.

Sansa shivered.   Artos was bright boy.  He was skilled at arms for his age and as honorable and kind as his father and grandfather, but he still much to learn.  Not to mention his father’s reputation was a difficult one to live up too.  It would dog him every step of his lordship.

King Aegon begins to speak, but Sansa did not hear him.   All she hears is Jon’s laughter.  His witty replies and his japes.   All the times he ever said her loved her.

As her husband’s funeral draws to a close, it is all Sansa can do not to scream and sob.   

Give me blood.  Give me the names of who did this.   Give me something, anything to make this pain go away.  Give me something to fill this hole in my heart.  Sansa cries inside her mind.

But she has nothing,  Nothing but her children who just lost a father and the ashes of her husband in an urn of silver, dragonglass and bronze

[templarhalo]

Tales of The Targaryen Wolf and the She Bear

Another fanfic of mine. This was inspired by the anime Beserk, the Tales of Dunk and Egg as well as my desire to write a fic where Jon has a good relationship with Elia Martell, and his half siblings. Will be uploaded to A03 soon, with many more chapters to come Main pairing is Jon x Dacey although I plan to have a lot of Jon and Lyanna Mormont fluff.

@aegor-bamfsteel @xenowlsome

"Please Ser, we don't want no trouble." The Peasant implored.

Mynar Blackwood sneered.

"If you didn't want any trouble you wouldn't be refusing to handover the taxes owed to your liege Lord.  Mynar sneered. The Knight of House Blackwood was tall and handsome, with hawkish features and grey eyes.  Her wore black plate with a cloak of black feathers and red silk draped across his shoulders.

The Peasant standing in front of him, Jared or Ethan or whatever the commoners name was wore brown roughspun, with a ragged and matted sheepskin cloak.  He was barefoot and stopped with age.

"We been serving House Bracken for generations.  Our taxes have always gone to the coffers at Stone Hedge.  Been that way for my father and his father and his father before him."

"Well you and your land belonged to House Blackwood, and I am here to take it back."

"You and ten men huh?  Well m'lord I don't want to tell you this but  If you think this land belongs to your house speak with Lord Tully or send a raven to the King and let him decide.  I'm just a stonecutter. Unless Lord Tully or King Aegon says otherwise, we're not handing over one copper or bushel."

"I will not be dubbed a liar by a commoner!" Mynar roared.  He punched the old man in the chest. He collapsed to the ground with a wheeze.

"Grandfather!" A little girl cried out from behind her mother's skirts.  

"Stay back Ella!" The old man said.

Mynar turned to them.   

"Your daughter is quite comely." Mynar let his words hang in the air.

"Please Ser.  My Bethany's a good woman.  She never done anybody wrong or wished ill on anybody."

"Your daughter has a fine pair of teats.  I think i'd like the feel of the them in my hands." Mynar said.

"And you call yourself a knight!" The old man wheezed.  He tried to rise, but Mynar kicked him hard in the chest.  Than stomped on his arm and face for good measure. The snap of bones weakened by age filled the air.

Mynar was just about to order his men to kill a few of the peasants for good measure when he heard the sound of  a pair of galloping horses

A young man of ten and six and a girl of ten  rode up to them. The man was of average height and build, clad in back boiled leather and chainmail with a ragged and patched grey cloak thrown over it.   The cloak’s silver clasp combined the sigil of two great houses. The three headed red dragon of House Targaryen and the snarling direwolf of House Stark.  Slung across his back was a massive sword, dark as night, with a hilt swathed in bandages and no guard at all, His hair was black and pulled back in a bun, and his eyes were a cold grey.   

The girl at his side was short and skinny, with  hair that fell past her shoulders, she was dressed in queer garb for a lady.  Breeches and a green and black tunic with a Cuirass of plate and chainmail with a cloak made from the pelt of a black bear thrown over the ensemble.   An axe and long dagger were at her hip .

The man dismounted, his companion did not, but instead  glared at Mynar with contempt.

“I assume you were going that help that old man up?” He asked in a Northern purr.  

“I-  

“No? shame on you than.”  The Northman bent down and helped the old man to your feet.

"I saw you once a year ago. At the Tourney of Harrenhal." The old man stammered.  " Your King Aegon's brother aren't you? You're the Targaryen Wolf!"

A murmur  broke out through Mynar's men.  

"The Targaryen Wolf is here?"  "Impossible" "If that's really him we don't stand a chance."

The young man smiled grimly.  "Indeed I am. My name is Ser Jon Stark.   Over there is my squire and future good sister Lady Lyanna Mormont."

He turned to face Mynar.  "Judging by your rather ugly face I'm assuming you're a Blackwood.  You're not one of Lord Tytos' sons are you?"

"My name is Ser Mynar Blackwood. I'm the second son of his cousin."

"I see, and what are you doing on Bracken land?  If you're on your way to the Tourney celebrating my brother's name day you and your escort are going the wrong way." Jon said softly.

"We're here to take the taxes owed to us.  This land is House Blackwood's. And we're here to take it back."

"If this is true. I'm assuming your  bear Lord Tytos, Lord Tully and my brother's seal, authorising you to do this?" Jon said.

Mynar did not.

"If you do not, than perhaps you can escort my squire and I to Raventree Hall, so I might speak  to Lord Blackwood regarding this land dispute? Lyanna and I had the pleasure of supping with Lord Bracken, and he seemed to be a reasonable man. I'm sure Lord Tytos is just as well balanced in his humors.  And if the two could not work out an arrangement the two of them could accompany me to King's Landing and my brother, Aegon could assist in resolving this problem."

"I need no seal. This was Blackwood land, and it will be again! Leave us to our duty bastard!" Mynar snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do  that friend. You see unlike you.  I am a knight, sworn to defend those who cannot defend themselves.  These people have done you no wrong. Leave them in peace or there will be violence."

"Of course there will be violence!" Mynar laughed.  "There's eleven of us and only you and that snip of a girl."

Before Mynsr could say anymore.  Jon's left arm seized him by the neck and hoisted him off the ground.  Jon raised his right arm and wrapped around his throat as well.

Mynar clawed st the arms lifting him off the ground.  "Shoot him!" Mynar rasped.

One of his men drew an arrow, but before he could knock it, Jon flung Mynar at his subordinate, knocking the archer off his horse and leaving him and his superior with a mix of bruised flesh and shattered pride.

In one smooth motion, Jon cast off his cloak and drew his weapon.

It was too big to be called a sword. Massive, thick, heavy, and far too rough. Indeed, it was only able to be wielded in battle due to being forged  of Valyrian steel.

The blade's name was Dragonslayer.  And no one besides Jon Stark had wielded it in battle since before the Doom of Valryia.  

Two of the Blackwood men at arms rushed him, falchions raised high.

Jon slew them both men in one swing. The blade made a wet Clang! sound  as it parted mail like butter and carved both men in half in a flurry of blood and severed limbs.  

Lyanna had seen her master and future good brother fight many times.   Few men or women were deadlier than Jon Stark, and those that were all possessed far more battle experience than him.

A mounted yeoman charged him, his sword flashing.  Jon severed his arm in a blur of motion. The Blackwood lackey fell from his mount, screaming in horror  and shock. Jon swung his oversized sword around in an arc and raised it high.

A second mounted man charged with cavalry spear in hand and a curse on his lips.   Jon sidestepped him and let the blade fall, Rather then spit the man in half or behead his horse the Dragonslayer fell right behind the man’s saddle and tore the horse in Twain.  The man tumbled and his neck snapped.

“You…. you.  Bastard!” Mynar screamed,

“A legitimized bastard,  false knight.” Jon repleid.

“K-Kill him! Kill him now!”  Mynar screamed to his men.

Instead of obeying his command.  His surviving men threw down their weapons and yielded.

Further adding to his humiliation was Mynar's realisation that he had pissed and shit himself.

[templarhalo]

The Master of Mankind’s Return Chapter 5 ( In the Grim darkness of the far future, there is only disappointment and hope)

Only three chapters left until this fanfic is officially complete  Thank you again for everyone who’s read it.   I plan  to have this chapter and the previous ones posted on Archive of our Own this week.

Vldor was falling.   He was tumbling into an an abyss,  his limbs flailing, his mouth trying to  scream, but producing no sound.

He slammed into the floor of a the Imperial Palace   Valdor groaned and pulled himself to his feet.   Then he looked around and almost screamed.

The palace was unrecognizable.  Gold was slathered over the walls,. Statues that had once been painted were dull and lifeless,   The magnificent tapestries and friezes that had been  removed in the process of fortifying the palace had not been restored to their  rightful place.

Thick layers of dust and soot had settled over everything.  Valdor had to refrain from screaming again when released the soot was actually cremated human  remains

Than he realized something.

The palace was silent.    Something it never should have been.  The palace had always been filled with the giggles of Ligo scampering through the halls, the clack-clack of Malcador’s Staff,  The chortle his Custodes made as the exchanged jokes with Sisters of Silence in thought-mark as they went about their duties.  The ka-boom! of one his King’s experiments  going awry.  

But there was no sound, not even the background of the hustle and bustle of Terra was heard.

Valdor started running in the direction of the Sanctum Imperialis.  He had landed  near the Tower of Hegemon.  In about 15 minutes at his maximum speed he would reach the Eternity Gate

When he reached Eternity Gate, he couldn't hold back his scream back anymore.

An army of the dead stood between him and Eternity Gate.  There were Astartes and Custodes in blackened armor, wreathed in fire, with no visible, flesh except for bones.   

There were mortal soldiers, too. Voidsmen of the defunct  Solar Auxilia, warrior maidens in a pattern of power armor he did did not recognize , Lucifer Blacks and the gung-ho Catachans.  Valdor saw flame-wreathed  soldiers in gas masks and trenchcoats clutching Lucius Pattern Lasguns and shotguns.  He saw  soldiers in green and olive fatigues led by a skeleton clutching a banner that had the name Cadia inscribed on  it's tattered form.

There were Thunder Warriors too.  The glorious, honored dead of the Terran Unification Wars stood alongside those who had been betrayed at Isstvan III and V and who died at the Siege of Terra and the decades after

Valdor felt a chill deep in his bones.  There had to be at least 300,000 Space Marines alone standing before him, not to mention  the Custodes and Thunder Warriors and the host of mortal soldiers.

For a second Valdor stood before an army of Martyrs.

Then they saluted, and parted before him

Valdor hesitated, then he gritted his teeth and took a step forward

Eternity Gate opened  with a deep  rumble.

Valdor  was greeted by a withered figure  sitting in a cell.  It took Valdor a moment to  recognize him as His King

The Emperor rose from the floor.  Valdor could see His ribs through the chiton He wore.   His hair was white and greasy, dark circles were under his eyes.  His hands were gnarled arthritic things. No aura of raw power cloaked him, this was His King as he truly looked, the strain keeping his body and mind intact after the wounds Horus dealt and the agony of his confinement to  Golden Throne plain to  see .

The Emperor wiped blood from his nose, than he spat black bile and coughed up phlegm,   His body made the rattle of death,  for it was little more than a corpse, its only purpose to  contain His essence and provide a form for His subjects and the woman he loved more than life itself to  see.  

“The wheels of fate are spinning  old friend, I have done all I can to  stack the deck in your favor.”

The Emperor  reached through the bars and lay a spasm wracked hand on Stan's chestplate.

“I look forward to seeing you with my own eyes old friend.”

Constantin awoke with a gasp.  He was  not expecting to be able to actually see with his physical eyes.  Isha must have healed him while he’d experienced this…. Experience.  Valdor would not call it a dream.  Dreams hurt and left a dry, bitter taste on one’s mouth, like a mix of taking a bolter round to the chest and trying to keep down bitter dregs of a poor vintage of wine.

“Your mind is loud for a mon-keigh.”  Isha said.

“Really?” Valdor asked.  The goddess nodded.   “You have my thanks for healing me.  Are we close to finding an exit to realspace?” The custodes asked.  He rose with more effort than he’d care to admit.  His wounds had been healed, but his strength was flagging.  He wanted nothing more than to rest, but duty forced him to remain standing and press onwards.

“There is a webway portal ahead   Twenty five of what you call miles ahead.” Isha answered.

The Aeldari goddess smelled of pine and roses, freshly baked bread and fertile soil.   The goddess presence, coupled with the  whispers of the imperfection of the daemons and those he slew with the Apollonian Spear hammered at him.  

He looked at Aella for a second.  

“You look like shit Captain-General.”  The young custodes  said with a grin.

Leman let out a bark of laughter.

“I feel like shit.” Valdor said.

“So Lord Commander Guilliman has petitioned for the aid of the knights of Sigismund?” High Marshal Helbrecht asked.

“My Primarch... has requested that the Black Templars muster as many warriors as you can spare to aid him for his crusade.  He would be honored if the Eternal Crusader could take part.” Lieutenant Chiron Patroclus of the Ultramarines 10th Company replied.

Sitting in a throne of hand carved marble mined from a quarry on holy Terra  during that heady period between the end of the Terran Unification Wars and the first true battles of the Great Crusade Helbrecht was every inch a Black Templar.

His Power Armor was a mix of Mark III and IV  plate  painted in a dull bronze that did little to hide the scars and dents it had accumulated during its service not just to Helbrecht but to those who had worn it before him. A line of knights had worn this suit, a line stretching back all the way to the Templar Brethren of the First Company of the original Imperial Fists Legion.  The suit had bore the scars of the battle fought at Beta-Gamon and the Siege of Terra itself.  

Over this power armor was a black tabard and cloak lined in arterial scarlet. Further adorning the armor were oaths of moment, purity seals, crusader tokens and scrolls detailing Helbrecht's glorious deeds.

In the Master of the Black Templar’s hands was the Sword of the High Marshal’s.  Even sheathed and deactivated  the Power Sword radiated an aura of majesty,  for the blade had been forged using  fragments of Rogal Dorn's own Chainsword Storm's Teeth.  The holy sword  had been quenched in traitor and xenos blood in the hands of the founder and First High Marshal of the Black Templar and  the First Emperor’s Champion, Sigismund

In contrast, Lieutenant Chiron wore Mark X Power Armor, which bore few battle scars. Helbrecht saw no battle honors on his armor aside from the Vigilus Campaign.

Not only does the Primarch send a lackey, he doesn't even send me one who's at least earned to right to march onto the field of battle in  holy Terminator Armor. Helbrecht thought.

Helbrecht’s pride was not stung, but the High Marshal was by the  necessity of his sacred office and duties a political thinker.  

Why had Lord Commander Gulliman sent a Lieutenant with barely two centuries of battle experience?  If the matter was so damn important why not order the High Marshal with his divine and political authority or petition him in person? Why not send Marneus Calgar or Reclusiarch Cassius? Or a member of his Victrix Guard or a Company Captain?  Or was this crusade so important that this young officer was all the thirteenth son of the God Emperor could spare in his preparations?

At least he has not sent one of his  Librarians. Helbrecht thought.

“Tell me Lieutenant, given the importance of this endeavor why had Lord Commander Gulliman not come in person? I mean no offense but why send  a young brother such as yourself? “

“No one else could be spared my Lord.  My Primarch is personally overseeing the gathering of forces for his new crusade.  Lord Calgar has been recalled from Vigilus to resume his role as Lord Defender of Macragge.  Reclusiarch Cassius fights along the 3rd Company and half the 6th against the Tyranids of Hive Fleet Kronos. The remainder of the chapter save for 25 veterans of the first and half of my own company, muster at Calth.

Translation :Guilliman was micromanaging again, but wanted his officers close, and anyone else that could have been sent  was unavailable due to other duties.

“What are Gulliman’s goals for this new crusade of his?” Helbrecht asked.

“Further securing the borders between the western and eastern half of the Imperium as well as the destruction of key traitor assets including  the Despoiler himself. My lord.  Many chapters, including your primogenitors and the Iron Hands have contributed their entire strength to  this endeavor.”

Helbrecht took a second to reply.

“I will confer with my knights, tell your primarch I can guarantee at least two hundred warriors for his crusade. I cannot promise that the Eternal Crusader herself will join for I have received petitions from other commanders.”

The Lieutenant nodded and than left the hall.

“My liege,  you should send only a handful of knights, there are other war zones, we would be more suited to.” Marshal Brienne of the Tarth Crusade said.

“I concur, High Marshal, the filthy Tyranids  and Tau have been ravaging the southern half of the Imperium, send enough brothers and sisters to satisfy the Lord Commander and be done with it.  He did not even petition you in person.” Marshal Tormund, a Primaris Marine clad in battered Gravis Armor said gruffly

“We have received reports of Huron Blackheart conducting  raids in the galactic West.  We should muster as many warriors and ships as we can.  Surely she  would be put to better use ending the Tyrant of Badab. while Lord Commander Guilliman has his own Gloriana.”   Marshal Michel spoke.

Helbrecht  suppressed a sigh.   The Black Templars had been bloodied this past century.    Many of their Chapter Keeps had been destroyed.  Many brothers and sisters had given their lives for the God-Emperor.   With the Imperium split in half that meant a great many Knights were missing, presumed fallen.   Helbrecht doubted there were a little less than two thousand Black Templars still crusading, and with every petition for aid and every campaign that dragged on longer than projected spread them thinner and sapped their strength.   The crusade to protect key Shrine worlds had been a costly campaign, even with the new Primaris Marines to bolster their ranks.   The Indomitus Crusade had whittled them down even more.   Aiding Lord Commissar Yarrick in slaying Ghazkull Urk Thraka had left more than a thousand of them dead   While the chapter had continued the Eternal Crusade far below Codex Approved levels, and when tthe chapter had been at the brink of extinction, something had to  give.  The Black Templars could not be everywhere at once.

“This is a perfect opportunity to avenge Marshal Almarich and the honored fallen  who died fighting the Despoiler!” Venerable Tankred boomed. The  Dreadnought  was one of 14 ancients and the sole Mark V lingering in the corner of Sigismund’s Hall. The others were  mix of Contemptor, Mark IV and Leviathan patterns; all of them more than five thousand years old or more.

Helbrecht listened to the arguing of his Marshals and Castellans

“Enough!  Tonight, I will pray to the primarch and the God Emperor for guidance before the bones of the first High Marshal!  Tomorrow I will decide if I will take the Eternal Crusader to  join Lord Guilliman.”

That night Helbrecht knelt before the amber encased bones of the first Black Templar and prayed for guidance.

He shut his eyes,  for a second  he was kneeling, the next he on the bridge of the Eternal Crusader, the Vengeful Spirit filling up the viewports.   He saw the Phalanx beside the Vengeful Spirit. Her guns trained on the traitor flagship

“Fire now High Marshal!” A voice ordered over the vox.

Helbrecht opened his eyes, his chapped lips uttering a gasp.  He was back in the Tomb of Sigismund.  

When he returned to his quarters he voxed Reclusiarch Grimaldus that he had made his decision. The Eternal Crusader would go to Gulliman’s crusade. The only question now would be which Marshals would accompany him and which ones would not.

“Finally an exit back into real space.” Leman said.    “Do we know where it leads?” Rogal asked Isha inspected the portal.

“ It leads to a planet called Drecksloch.”  Isha said   She  pointed to  the inscription and  smiled,  as if she knew a joke that others  would not get.  

The portal opened  with a deep bass rumble

The five of them entered the shimmering portal,  Constantin  a sense of vertigo for a a few minutes  no more than three by his estimate.   Than he emerged in the middle of a fucking war zone.  In the distance he could make out Imperial Fists and Space Wolves  engaging warriors of the Black Legion.   

The sky was  filled with smoke  and dueling aircraft.

“Brother?  Is that you?”  a familiar, if somewhat unliked voice said.

Standing before them, clad in  deep blue and gold Power Armor, a Laurel wreath on his head and The Emperor of Mankind’s sword in his hand was Roboute Guilliman.

   .

[templarhalo]

The Master of Mankind’s Return Chapter 2: Those left behind  (Sometimes Little girls don’t just grow up. Sometimes we grow teeth)

Sorry this took so long.  Kudo’s to anyone who guesses where the quote in parenthesis came from.  @sisterofsilence  @asklotarasarrin

Aella Hypatia Enyo  was quite the ray of sunshine when she was  a  Ligo Aetos.  Created by the Emperor’s own hand atom by atom eight years  before Horus set the galaxy on fire . Aella was like all of the Ligo Aetos, frighteningly intelligent, very energetic and criminally adorable.

Aella, like all of the Custodes to be,  had spent her whole life in the Imperial Palace.  She had only left for a field trip of the Petitioner's City which had ended in fifty arrests, a Vindicare assassin running around naked, and Prefect Diocletian finding himself duct taped to the roof of a Land Raider.

On the brightside one of Lady Krole’s Raptor Guard was able to schedule a date with a rather attractive Culexus Assassin and the toymakers of the Petitioner's City were significantly richer.

“One day I'll be  a Tribune like you.” Aella said as Ra tucked her in bed.

“Is that so?” Ra said with a smile. Everyone like Ra. Not only was he a model Custodes, but he had the coolest hairstyle and tattos ever. He never babied her or the other Ligo like some Custodes and he wasn’t a cunt like Diocletion was.  

“Yup. I’ll be as good as you.” Aella said.

“I expect you to be better.” Constantin Valdor said as he strode into the nursery.

“Captain-General.” Ra greeted

“Just checking in.” the first Custodes ever created said.

Valdor stared at Aella. Unlike Ra who was in his robes. Valdor was in full regalia. His spear in hand.

“Do you know why I expect you to  be better than Ra,  Aella?”

“Because Tribune Ra does silly things and once went bungee jumping from  the Tower of Hegemon?” She asked.

Valdor let out a small glimpse of a smile. Valdor rarely smiled. She heard some Custodes joke it was because there was a stick up his ass, but Arlette said it was because Valdor worried too much and focused more on what could go wrong to what could go right. .

“Not just that little one. I expect you and your fellow Ligo  to be better than even me,  because on your seventeenth birthday you will be responsible for the protection of the most important human being to ever walk among our species. You are responsible for someone who brings hope to trillions of human beings.”

“Why is everything a lesson with you sir?” Ra asked

“Because life is a lesson Ra.” Valdor replied

“What about Tribune Arlette?” Aella piped up

“No one is better than Tribune Arlette.” Ra said.

“Wiser words have never been spoken. Now come, there are other Ligo Aetos who need bedtime stories read to them and to be tucked in.”

“Captain-General Valdor?” Aella asked.

“Yes Aella?” he replied.

“Will you be there when I become a Custodes?”

“I promise i’ll be there little one.  Unless you don’t want me to be there when you take up your Guardian Spear?” He said with another one of his rare smiles.

When Aella was eight she became Equerry to  Arlette Augusta Amon Rakaposhi Gorro, Tribune of the Companions and Equerry of the Emperor of Mankind.

She was also the Empress of Mankind,  which was a very well kept secret, The Ligo were told that whenever they were outside the Palace, they must never never call her Empress, othewise very bad people would come and try and hurt her, and Arlette would have to  waste her time dealing with them instead of more important things like keeping the Emperor from setting his hair on fire or teaching them how to sing and the thousand other things she had to do,.

Aella’s duty’s included bringing paperwork and tea for Arlette, delivering paperwork to  the Captain General and the other Tribunes, retrieving records and files for Arlette and helping Arlette decide when the Emperor should take his nap.

Aella was with Arlette when Malcador the Sigillite brought the news of Horus’ betrayal, She was there when the Custodians first returned from the Imperial Webway, bloodied and carrying their dead.  When the Emperor fought Horus, Aella was in the trenches delivering ammunition and medicine and watching Custodians and Space Marines die.

The victory over the traitors was hollow.  The Emperor was dead, if anything, his fate made Aella wish he was dead instead of the half life he would endure for ten thousand years.

The Imperial Palace became a shadow of itself.   Custodes strode aimlessly their  red cloaks traded for black shrouds.  There were whispers that some of the Ten-Thousand  had taken their own lives for failing to save their king.   

When Aella Enyo donned the Auramite plate and took up her Guardian Spear, she did surrounded by ghosts.

Some of those who promised to be there when she became a Custodes, the Blackshield Endryd Haar being one such example  had died honorable and valiant deaths.

Others like Ra Endymion had shrouded fates, fates only known to the Emperor and Diocletian Corvo, who  took the the information regarding  the Tribune who always played with her and the other Ligo, the one who  read the most interesting bedtime stories and who made the best chocolate chip cookies and told the funniest jokes to the grave.

And some had disappeared into legend and whispers like Arlette Amon Rakaposhi Gorro,

And Constantin Valdor.

Him not being there hurt like a Bolt round to  the chest.  It hurt because he had promised her he would be there.  Instead he had disappeared without a goodbye with Jenetia Krole.   Wherever Valdor went, the Soulless Queen followed.  The two were like peanut butter and jelly.

So Aella trained with the Guardian Spear she named Gatekeeper. She participated in the Blood Games. She patrolled the walls of the Palace and watched the Himalzia mountains.   She saw the Imperial Fists train and patrol the walls their legion had died on.

When she was forty she became a member of the Companions.  

Aella had wept when she entered the Sanctum Imperialis.

He looked like He was sleeping.   Apart from His visible injuries and the cables that sustained His life, He looked like the man who had created her atom by atom.  The man she and her kind would have given their  lives for without hesitation. The man who had once let sit on His lap and listen to her talk about she didn’t cry when she skinned her knee during jetbike training.  The man who soothed her nightmares and once let her watch as He worked in his lab on some new wonder.

The Emperor was not the skeletal decaying figure that He was when she returned to the palace  many millenia  later.   He still looked like he would rise from the Golden Throne any second.  He still looked who the man she once saw hugging and kissing Arlette in the hallways of the Tower of Hegemon.  

The man who once stopped during a meeting with the Sigillite to feed some birds, laughed like a hyena when some of the older Ligo Aetos skipped Arturia’s class to paint Venerable Sagittarius pink and used His psychic powers to pass fruit around the dinner table.

After five years she was promoted to Centurion.

Seven years later she became Tribune of the Companions.

For eighty years she held the role once held by Arlette Amon Augusta Rakaposhi Gorro, the most powerful woman in the universe..

For eighty years she stood unmoving before her Emperor's entombed body.

And then He spoke to her.  Not physically of course, but with psychic power.

Aella  stood in a stone chamber. On one side He stood in the armor He wore during the Unification Wars. On His right was Egil Kanthor.  An honorary Uncle to her and the other Ligo Arlette told her once. On His left was Arik Taranis.  “He wasn’t as nice as people said he was.” Arlette said when she inquired about the most famous Thunder Warrior

Sitting across her King was Arlette herself.  She wore a suit of crude power armor draped in furs and leather.  Her hair was laced with strands of gold and silver.   Clustered around their queen,  were a pack of techno-barbarians and a man from Albia who had his hand on an arming sword.  The man  bore a resemblance to Constantin Valdor

The scene changed.  A Space Marine in Terminator Armor the colors of the Imperial Fists Chapter lay on his back. The largest Ork Aella had ever seen loomed over him .

“Daylight Wall Stands Forever.”  The last Son of Dorn said resolutely.

The scene changed again.

A  man in golden armor held a sword in his hand.  Millions of Imperial guardsmen and war machines surrounded him.

“MACHARIUS! MACHARIUS! MACHARIUS!”  The Guardsmen chanted

“Cadia Stands!!!” a mortal Aella found rather handsome screamed.   No  other mortal soldiers took up the cry.  

“Cadia is dead!”  Abaddon The Despoiler replied. The former First Captain of the Sons of Horus loomed over the mortal. The Despoiler was a man who had haunted Aella’s nightmares after the Siege.  A man who would have killed her if her Broodfather, Shield-Captain Asclepias  Phoebus Reticulus had not taken him and the entire Sons of Horus 1st Company on with  a Sentinel Blade in one hand and Castellan Axe in another.

The Warmaster raised the Talon of Horus.

The scene shifted again, the mystery of of Ursarkar E. Creed’s fate unsolved for the Companion until she saw him in the war council with Roboute Guilliman.

Aella heart lept with joy and anger.

Constantin Valdor lay on the ground, asleep. Next to him, Jenetia Krole leaned against some rubble, Veracity across her lap.  

“Captain-General its me!  Its Aella!  Where are you?!!  Wake Up!   Wake up and tell me why  you left!”

+Because I ordered him to +  The Emperor of Mankind said.

Aella turned.and faced her Emperor.

“My king.”

Aella turned and found herself facing The Emperor.  

He looked just as He did when He  walked among the Ten Thousand, the only exceptions was that his black mane was shot with streaks of grey and white.  hHs face was more heavily liked than it had been during the Heresy.

Aella kneeled instinctively.  

“My king.” Aella said softly. She felt her eyes water.

“Do not kneel before me Aella.  My  time is brief.  The strain of operating the Astronomicon in my physical state and limiting the fragmentation of my mind is taking its toll much  earlier than predicted.”

“You must leave the Palace and find Constantin Valdor, Jenetia will need your help in keeping him alive until they  can find Isha.”

“Who’s Isha?” Aella asked.

“ An Aeldari goddess of healing currently enjoying Nurgle’s company.   As much as I wished to minimize my contact with the Aeladari, her power may  be the only thing capable of saving my life.”

The Emperor’s left eye twitched, his right eye was still focused on Aella with an intensity that made her quiver.

“ I know Constantin promised  to  be there when you became a Custodian, I’m sorry he could not be there when you ascended into the ranks of the Ten Thousand.” The Emperor said.

“If I’d known he and Lady Krole disappeared to find a way to bring you back it wouldn't have hurt as bad. “ Aella said sadly.

“I ordered him not tell anyone of his quest. As I told Ra during the War in the Webway  Each one of the Ten Thousand represents genetic lore acquired over many lifetimes. Each one of you is unique, a work of art never to be repeated. I am miserly with your lives, where I would spend so many others without a thought.   I would rather have  Valdor and Jenetia  lose their lives than end up losing both the Custodes and Silent Sisterhood.  I have looked into the future Aella. When the Storm gathers my Talons will both be needed to defend Terra again.”

“Than what I saw...”

“Was a glimpse into  the past.  And a glimpse into  the future of the Imperium of Man”.

Aella pondered what her king has told her.

“ Then do you know what has happened to Arlette?  She disappeared about twenty years after I became a Custodes.  The Companions have no memory of what happened. One moment she entered the Throne Room, the next she was gone .” Aella said.

The Emperor frowned, his face wracked with spasms.  Now both eyes were twitching.

“Strange.  That’s not like her at all, although I went through an entire century without her.  It was quite boring.   I do not feel her presence on Terra  nor do I feel it elsewhere.. But I would feel it if  she was dead. “

“Thank you my king.” Aella said.  She breathed a sigh of relief.  Her Empress, her mother and teacher did not lie among the dead.

One less ghost to haunt her.

“If you return  with Valdor, Jentia and Isha,  finding her will be one of my first priorities.   I have always found her, or she has always found me.  We always find each other.” He said with a sad smile.

“Now go Aella Hypatia Enyo, my Tribune, my  Companion, my daughter, one of my Ten Thousand, go and carry out my will.  Tell no Adeptus Custodes of your quest.  Find your Captain-General and do what must be done to save my life.  Do what I created you to do.  Already I have consigned a thousand souls and a thousand ships to the ravenous hungers of Chaos to commune with you and I must return to my duty as a beacon for humanity. But never doubt that I am with you or that I love you.”

The Emperor  turned and walked away from Aella.

Before he disappeared and Aella’s mind was flung back into her body, the Emperor said one more thing to her.

“I am proud of you Aella. I know Constantin and Arlette are as well.”

Aella opened her eyes.

“Tribune?” Centurion Abrax asked

“He spoke to me. “  Aella said softly. Through her helm lens she digested data she had missed.  Apparently only a minute had passed since she the Emperor has spoken to her.

“I have a duty I must carry out.  You  are Tribune of the Companions now Abrax.”

She than left the Sanctum Imperialis before Abrax could respond.  Aella cut her vox off and removed her helm.

Her personal quarters  were not that far from the Sanctum Imperialis.   Her chambers were spartan, the only sign of individuality being a shelf of books, a four poster bed covered in fluffy animal pelts and thick purple sheets  and a silver and jade hairpin that Valdor had made for her.  that lay on her night stand.

She opened her armory, pulled out a Lastrum Storm Bolter and an Adrathic Destructor, than strapped both weapons to her thighs.  Aella grabbed a bandolier full of extra magazines for her Guardian Spear and  as many box mags for the Storm Bolter and Power Cells for the irreplaceable energy weapon she could fit in her belt. She strapped    She opened her closet and draped a black fur shawl over her mourning cloak.

She moved to the door, pausing to stare at the hairpin.

She grabbed that and tucked it in one if her ammo pouches.

She did not look back as she left her quarters.

Aella did know this at the time, but her personal collection of books would end up in the possession of a Shield-Captain named Valerian.  Her childhood journal would become a treasured relic of the Ten Thousand.   Copies of it were made and became required reading for future generations of Ligo Aetos.

Aella moved unopposed through the hallways of the Imperial Palace.

Her destination was the Imperial Dungeon.

The portal to the Imperial Webway was guarded by a full squad of Wardens led by Prefect Atrops Lachesis Anake.  She would later go on to become Lockwarden of the Shadowkeepers for 5,000 years before being mortally wounded by the Daemon Primarch Lorgar.  She would be interred in a  Contemptor Dreadnought and fall 3,000 years later on the final day of the 40th millennia against a band of Word Bearers attempting to summon Samus, the Daemon Prince of the Ruinstorm.

“Tribune.” She greeted.

‘Prefect”  Aella responded.

“Your presence here is unusual.”

“I need access to the Imperial Webway.  The Emperor spoke to me, I have a mission I must undertake.”

“Out of the question, Tribune, to open the Webway would put Terra at risk, it would make the  blood price the Ten Thousand and Silent Sisterhood and the sacrifice of Malcador the Hero worthless.  Tribune of the Companions or not. Unless our Emperor or Empress Arlette Amon Augusta Rakaposhi Gorro herself appears before us, you shall not pass.” Atrops replied.

Aella’s choler did not rise. The Shadowkeeper was just doing her duty.   It was admirable, and in Aella’s opinion rather attractive, but that wasn’t the point. She had her orders and they must be carried out. ��

Suddenly, a sound louder than the warhorn of a Titan filled the area.

The Shadowkeepers watched as the door of  the Imperial Webway opened for a split second. They assumed combat positions.

“Do not Vox the Captain-General!!!  This is our King’s doing, not the Ruinous Powers!!!” Aella ordered.

She broke into  a sprint  towards the portal that was already beginning to  close.

For a second there was blackness, than a deep orchid.  The ruins of the Impossible City and one of the largest Titans ever created casted shadows that surrounded her. Aella assumed a defensive stance, pausing to catch her breath and asses the terrain like Aunt Arturia and Uncle Amon had shown her.

Nothing.

Nothing, but the long decayed bodies of fallen Custodes and Sisters.  Nothing but the howling wind of a slowly crumbling dimension.  

Nothing but silence.

When in doubt move forward.   The old, often repeated axiom, was always good advice for any situation,  whether it be advancing through an alien dimension to find the man whose genetic material was used to  create you and save the most important person in the universe to trying to find a boyfriend or girlfriend.

So Aella did that.

[templarhalo]

Heya! For the character asks, if you saved those to get suggestions and not as reference, Hard Mode ones, what do you think about 24, 25 and/or 40?

For any characters you feel would be fitting or generally interesting to analyse in such lense c:

Also hope you have a nice day!

Going to be answering these with 3 seperate OC's because you sent 3 questions :D

24- Marcella Agosti (warhammer 40k)

Marcella is very quick to trust. Because of the whole soul binding thing she can pick up if someone is Corrupted (with a captial C). Generally she gives people the benefit of the doubt and often ( sometimes naivly asusmes that people share her humble just a servant of the Emperor mindset)

25- Trakkus Ebroic- Warhammer 40k

Trakkus was always suspicious of people but after his wife's... Murder by inaction at the hands of fellow Inquisitors. He's definitely more suspecious of *Everyone* and especially Inquisitiors. He naturallly encourages younger Deathwatch Veterans to be suspicious and doubt everything and everyone except those that are part of their Kill-team. The flesh is weak, bonds of freindship and brotherhood are strong. (Usually)

And yes he makes exceptions for people he's close to. His wife was an Inquisitior. It took a lot of emotional strength to shove aside that natural suspecion to form a friendship let alone marry her. He's an Iron Hand, specifically their bullied kid group Clan Borggos so that natural gruffness that comes from the chapter culture is already adding a -100 to interaction rolls

40- Tychon Lelantos (Warhammer 40k)

Being a Cacharodon Astra, Tychon is naturally disturbingly courterus and formal with people. This isn't out of any particular regard for service staff, merely common decency. Like all sharks running around in space Tychon cares little for humans outside of a handful of individuals (like @rowscara 's Ostia and Bean), less so out of any malice and more the sin of omission. Most humans he's dealt with are chapter slaves and besides killing them anything goes with his Chapter's chattel. That colors his perception of things and how he interacs with baseline humans.

He would tip them well though and he certainly wouldn't be a stereotypical Karen. It would certainly be a surreal experience for the wait staff havjng a 7 foot tall transhuman killing machine slide two 20s in the tip jar though.

[templarhalo]

working on ood boards for my Godzilla OC Sgt. Major David Marlow, the main character in my upcoming Gozilla fic Task Force Artemis.   he’s the grandson of John C. Reily’s character Lt. Hank Marlow from Kong Skull Island.  Since my fics are set an AU where Dr. Serizawa lived, David has a close working relationship with him due to their shared admiration for the Titans and has carved out a position as the Doctor’s left hand man.  

David also has a big-brother relationship with Madison Russel, sparring with her and showing her tips and trick on subjects from philosophy to Kendo.  He has a deep respect for Madison for her actions during KOTM and as such will politely remind anyone who dismisses what Madison says because she’s  twelve to shut the fuck up because Did they willingly draw a Three-Headed Space Dragon to  their position?.  Fortunately this doesn’t happen often...

And before you ask, yes he does have his Grandfather’s Gunto.  Yes he knows how to use it. And yes he will stab you with it.  Even if you are Titan.

@aegor-bamfsteel     @embidedbythesand  @leoprime13

[templarhalo]

Here’s my Godzilla fic.  Hope everyone’s ready for some angst!

@leoprime13 @aegor-bamfsteel @embidedbythesand

[templarhalo]

Sighs

Guess If I want a fanfic where Beric and Thoros be  Arya’s third and fourth dads and help her get her revenge on the Lannisters  for killing Ned, Syrio and Robb I have to  write it myself.

[templarhalo]

I'm not dead(but I soon will be.)

Just kidding I'm not dying. Apologies for the Monty Python reference.

Anyway the long long long overdue chapter of the Master of Mankind's return will be up next week. It's 85% percent done. After that they'll be another chapter of Endryd Haar:The Riven Hound. Than I'll be posting a couple posts on Transformers:The Last Knight and how the film franchise can move forwards in a better direction . I'm also in the process of readying A Game of Thrones and comic wise Ultimate X-Men and X-Men Red and mentally writing out some posts on how the X-Men(including Deadpool and Cable) can be introduced into the MCU.

I'll also be writing some Marvel fanfic in the future. I've been really excited for Marvel Rising:Secret Warriors, so I might do my own spin with a four lady team of Laura Kinney, Hope Summers, Daisy Johnson and Kamala Khan. And I'll definitely throw in some domestic Cablepool and Philinda.

Anyway hope everyone's enjoying their summer! Toodles!

[templarhalo]

Did I mention my AU where Valdor kills Horus and than runs off to go  live in  a cave? And Jenetia and Ra have to drag his ass back to  Emps and Arlette?

[templarhalo]

Little ramble of what I’m writing i n this exact moment

A Godzilla fic that doesn’t have Godzilla, but does have Angurius, and the only OC I ever created a moodboard/aesthetic for

Writing  a Deathwatch Space Marine from the Emperor’s Spears and a lady Inquisitor hanging out, killing xenos and heretics and such.  Hoping to follow this bit with some smut so I can get better at writing smut, and try to write smut longer than 3 2/7th paragraphs because ADB gave the Emperor’s Spears, who were just a name and paint scheme before he wrote a book for them that has this wonderful sexy energy. Like helmet crests, Gallic-roman names and culture, Geas as a literary trope,  dry but earnestly sweet humor and genuinely great relationships that showcase Astartes as brothers, how Astartes interact with humans and what life is like on the Other side of the Great Rift all through the viewpoint of a chapter serf, who is badass lady with prosthetic limbs,  This is making me harder than terminator armor.  I mean the Spears are described as “Barbarian Watchmen”  Like the last time I heard those words used together was in a book I was reading on the Roman Army under Diocletian and Constantine I

The next chapter to  my ASOIF fic that’s also a Berserk crossover,  Tales of the Targaryen Wolf and the Little She-Bear, which started out as me wanting to  write some Jon and Lyanna Mormont interactions with the same vibe as Dunk and Egg, but like got bigger, and bloodier, and goddamn, I  did not expect my contribution to the ASOIF fandom to have two of the nineteen Jon Snow x Dacey Mormont fics , but hey,contribution to a fandom is contribution to a fandom. 

[templarhalo]

The Master of Mankind’s Return Chapter 4 Isha (A dream one step closer to becoming true, a goal is accomplished, and Valdor actually doesn’t act like an ass.)

“You’re brooding again Stan.” Arlette said.  Constantin sat up. He pushed aside silk and furs to stare at the woman sharing his bed.

He knew this was a dream, or a rather odd afterlife considering the wounds he had been dealt.  He looked around and realized this was his tent. His home before he had taken the name Constantin Valdor, and when he had been advisor and champion to Arlette.  Well the woman she was before she reclaimed her real name.  

When she was the   “The Lightning Queen” one of the most feared warlords during the Unification Wars.  Constantin was the only person besides Malcador the Hero, who knew the exact origins of his King and Queen and  it made his head throb just thinking about how convoluted and pulp-fiction like  their past was.

“You are not Arlette.”  Valdor said.  Whoever this person wearing his dear friend’s face was, they were not Arlette.  

“Of course I’m not.  I’m a product of your subconscious as your life leaves your body.”  She said with a smile

“I cannot die.  Not yet.  Not until the Emperor walks among His people again.”  Valdor said with sudden urgency, moving to get out of his bed.

The Not-Arlette grabbed him and kissed him.  

The kiss was exactly as Valdor remembered, except this hollow copy of Arlette added tongue to the equation.

“Than wake the frack up you idiot.” she said after she broke the kiss.

“Arlette!”  Constantin shouted.  He tried to sit up, but his body raged at him.  He felt worse than that one time a Titan had stomped on him.

“Easy, my lord, Mortarion almost cut you in half.” an unfamiliar female voice said.

Valdor stared at a young Custodes was sitting a few feet away.  It took a second for his vision to focus on the Custodes kneeling in front of him. She offered him a canteen

“I owe you my thanks.  What is your name?”  Valdor rasped as he drank the water.  He touched the spot where his eye had been. The wound had been bandaged

The young Custodes smiled.

“I am Aella Hypatia Enyo, former Tribune of the Companions at your service Captain-General.”

Constantin's stared at her for a minute.

+Stan, I know it’s hard to believe, but this really is the Ligo Aetos that followed Arlette around.  + Jenetia signed

“Groxshit.” Stan said with a wince.

 “There is no one still breathing in the galaxy or Warp that is capable of killing Arlette Amon Augusta Rakaposhi Gorro.  And second, It is impossible that you are Aella.  She was a child when Jenetia and I left.”

“It’s been a little over a century since you left Captain-General, plenty of time for a little eagle to spread her wings and fly.”

Valdor  stared at her.

“If you are who you claim to be,  than why did I tell her to expect her to  be better than Ra and I?”

“Because when I turned 17, I would be responsible for the safety of the most important human being to ever walk among our species.  That I would be responsible for someone who brings hope to trillions of human beings.” She said.

Aella than reached into her ammo pouch and brought a silver and jade hairpin.  It was a small thing, but Valdor was quite proud of it.  

You see, Valdor was a man of many talents, during his transition to becoming the first of the Ten Thousand, Valdor had been taught many things by the Emperor.

One of them was blacksmithing, for the Emperor’s father was a blacksmith, and He had passed that love of the forge and creating something   to Vulkan and Ferrus Manus.

Valdor was nowhere near as talented as the primarchs or his King, but he had forged his Misericordia and jewelry and other small things for his Custodes and the Sisters of Silence.  The hairpin was a gift to Aella when Arlette made her her Equerry.

Even Diocletian had laughed when Aella, the silver and jade hairpin worn smartly in her hair had wandered up to some older Ligo who were bragging about the Custodes they were shadowing let them plan patrol routes and even man the weapons of the Land Raider’s had told them she was the Empress’s Equerry and that meant she helped Arlette decide when the Emperor had to take a nap.

“It’s really you.”  Valdor said his eyes downcast.

“You don’t have to apologize for not being there when I took up my spear.  The Emperor said you had a very good excuse.”  Aella said in the dry, teasing tone she picked up from spending too much time with Arlette.

“And do not move your body is just beginning to put itself back together.”  Aella said in a tone she picked up from her Broodfather Phoebus,   Poor Phoebus had dealt with many injured Custodes who said they were fine, even when they needed to rest for a week minimum to heal.

Valdor reluctantly obeyed, as the first Custodes, the Emperor had done some tinkering and added “Bells and Whistles” that regular Custodes lacked.  Valdor’s natural endurance and capacity to tolerate pain had been enhanced to near primarch levels.  

“How long has it been since we left?”  Valdor asked with a grunt of pain as he assessed the state of his Power Armor.  He noticed liquid cement sticking out like a sore thumb where the wound that would have killed a “regular” Custodes was.  He noticed more of the substance applied to a crack on his right gauntlet and other areas.  

“I’m no Armory Thrall, but I did my best to patch up your war plate.”  Aella said with a smile that made his heart ache.

“I can’t believe you’re…”

“Sir with all due respect Get over it.  It’s been over a century since you left the Ten Thousand.  Arlette has vanished, and the longer it takes for us to find Isha, the longer our King lingers on that damned Throne and the Imperium he created withers. “

“What happened to Arlette?” Valdor questioned,

“She disappeared twenty years after I became a Custodes.  One second she was in the throne room, the next she was gone.  The Companions have no memory of what happened.”

“Of course they don’t, Arlette’s psychic abilities are on par with Malcador’s it would be child's’ play for her to alter the memories of the Hetaeron Guard.”  Valdor said.

“The Emperor said she wasn’t dead when He spoke to me.”  

“He spoke to you?”  Valdor asked.

“Not physically, but with his psychic abilities.”  Aella replied.  

+That must have taken quite a toll given his condition+ Jenetia signed.

“A thousand ships and a thousand souls, it was probably a lot more.”  Aella admitted.

Valdor pondered that for a moment, than wondered why he even cared, it did not matter how many lives or worlds would be lost in their quest, it did not matter if every single Custodian fell, all he cared about was that the Emperor walked among mankind again.

He stumbled a moment, his body feeling worse than that one time he had leapt onto a phosphex grenade in nothing but a loincloth.

+Will I need to carry you like I did at Aurora Gate?  + Jenetia asked.

“No.”  Valdor gritted.  He pressed onwards, but shortened his strides a little bit.

An hour passed, Leman was humming an old Fenrisian song  

After what Aella estimated to be a day according to her helm chrono they ran into a plaguebearer.

Jenetia darted forward and lopped off the Plaguebearer’s arms before it could even react.  She plunged Veracity into its chest.

The daemon screeched in its foul tongue.

“High Gothic, I know your kind speak it.  Answer my question and Jenetia will make your death painless.  Try my patience and she will make you death seem like an eternity.  Now speak daemon.”  Valdor growled.

The daemon stared into Jenetia’s eyes and screamed.  

This continued for a full minute until Jenetia wedged the Sword of Oblivion deeper into its chest.

“I’m going to ask you where Isha is being held in the garden of Nurgle.  You will answer.”

The daemon focused on Valdor and it answered in perfect High Gothic.   

 “If you arrive at Grandfather’s villa and make it to the main hall, you will make a right seven times, On the seventh right you will find the cage he keeps the Eldar goddess and the most painful death you will ever receive.” the Plaguebearer said each word dripping with the sheer agony of being in the presence of a pariah

“Thank you.”  Valdor said with complete sincerity.  He than gestured to Jenetia in thoughtmark to behead the daemon.

 “It’s smaller than I expected.” Aella stated as she passed Valdor three magazine for his Spear’s Bolter

Compared to the Imperial Palace, the villa where Nurgle resided was rather small.  It was a muddish green with brown splotches.  Its tiled roof was greasy, greenish, and grey.  The ground surrounding the decayed, dilapidated structure where a god did his deeds was barren and never should have been able to yield fruit or plants.

Yet it did thick bulbous flowers and vines and trees whose fruits bore toxins more deadly than anything Valdor had encountered during the First World War.  Plaguebearers tilled soil that existed to support only a twisted mockery of life.

The philosopher in Valdor found it ironic that the one of the most vile creatures that plagued humanity carried out his spiteful acts in a simple villa, while his King, the most compassionate and honorable man, Valdor knew, the one man who had restored his faith in humanity lived in  a palace that almost took up an entire continent.

+This is a trap+ Jenetia signed.

Of course it is.  Even an astropath can see that this trap.”  Lemans said.

“Then let us spring it” Valdor rose and made his way down the villa grounds.

Jenetia made a rude gesture in thoughtmark and made her way down.

The daemons picked by Nurgle to tend to his garden did not expect for their daily routine to be interrupted, they never thought anyone would dare enter Grandfather’s realm.  

Plaguebearers dropped their agricultural implements and drew their blades, only to be cut down by precise hyper-velocity bolter fire.

As Valdor and his companions fought their way to the entrance of the villa, he wish this was a coordinated assault with the full strength of the Ten Thousand and that they could annihilate this circle of Hell, not a suicidal attempt to bring hope for Mankind.  But alas, the Warp was a fire that could not be put out; it could be only shackled and diluted to serve mankind  

Valdor watched Aella carve her way through the tide of daemons.  He noticed her fighting style incorporated thousands of different Custodes’ techniques He saw not just his own, but Ra, Amon and Arturia’s, he saw Mikelor and Arlette's.  He even saw the brutal techniques that had earned Sagittarius such infamy in the Terran Unification Wars before his internment.

As Valdor slew more of Nurgle’s foul children,   He felt Jenetia’s presence by his side as she racked up her own body count.  Her topknot of blood red dyed hair swayed as daemons fled from the Soulless Queen.

The five of them pushed forward through a sea of motley brown-green flesh.

Aella and Valdor fired the Bolters strapped to their spears in short bursts of three to four rounds.  They never missed; they couldn’t with the tide of daemons surging forward to protect the front of their lord’s villa.

Aella’s Guardian Spear spun in tandem with Valdor’s, a whirlwind of death that severed limbs and heads.  The two  fell into a natural synchronization, both of them becoming partners in a dance only a Custodes could perform,  Daemons shrank back, only to meet a more painful death at the blade of Jenetia Krole

Soon they were wading through corpses, the entrance only a few meters away.  A Great Unclean One loomed in the doorway,  

Aella stowed her Guardian Spear and drew her Lastrum Storm Bolter and Adrathic Destructor and emptied the two weapons into the Greater daemon’s head.  Jenetia and Leman fought their way to the beast and with two strokes removed its head and split it in half.

Nurlging’s emerged from the daemon’s groin and guts, only to be torn apart by foot and controlled bolter fire.

The five moved in to the villa, Jenetia at head, with Dorn bringing up the rear.

 As they made their first right, Valdor felt his heartbeat pickup, they were getting closer.  Close to mankind’s salvation, or its death.

The room they entered was vast, with a massive cauldron taking up the center.  Next to it was a table carpeted in vials, flasks and everything one need to brew blights and misery.  

Occupying a corner of the room was a cage.  A great bird cage made of blackened metal inscribed with runes in a tongue older the mankind   inside a goddess lay.  A beautiful woman with skin to color of snow and hair the color of gold.

And standing before them was Nurgle himself.  His many chins jostled and his belly rumbled.

“Greetings!  It has been so long since I have had guests.”  Nurgle said with a smile of rot-black teeth.  

It was in that moment, that Constantin Valdor hesitated.  Fear coursed through his veins like a rushing river, seizing control of his limbs and drying his throat.  This was foolhardy,  not even the Emperor and Arlette at the height of their powers had taken on  a Chaos God head on, what chance, did he, even with his enhancements being the finest of example of the Emperor’s Gene-craft.  Stand against a god?

Then he felt Jenetia's presence at his side.

No words were spoken, their friendship was built on silent, unconditional love and mutual respect and it would end that way if it must.

He forced his gaze from Nurgle and the sheer malevolence he exuded to stare at Jenetia, than at the cage that contained his King’s salvation.

“Go.” he told her.

Jenetia shot off like a bolt of lightning, while Valdor, consigning himself to death threw himself at Nurgle, Aella and Leman hot on his heels.  Rogal followed Jenetia, his borrowed blade at the ready.

Nurgle dodged Valdor’s spear with amusement.  He was still smiling

Six times Nurgle dodged Valdor’s blows, on the seventh; Nurgle yanked the Apollonian Spear from Valdor’s grasp and tossed it aside.  Nurgle than slammed his fist into Valdor’s chest, Auramite shattering like glass and breaking three of his ribs.  Valdor sank to one knee.  His lips tried to form a sound of agony, but nothing came.  Nurgle raised his fist, only to be blasted back by Aella’s Lastrum Storm Bolter and Adrathic destructor.  Nurgle’s limbs were blown by heliothermic bolt rounds and his flesh cooked alive, yet Nurgle laughed, vanishing in a cloud of buzzing flies.  

Aella drew her Guardian Spear; firing full-auto into the swarm flew towards her.  It disappeared feet away from her.  Nurgle revealed himself behind the Custodes, his stubby fingers reached out to grab her by her cloak.  Aella spun and plunged her Guardian Spear into the Chaos God’s chest. He laughed and head-butted her, cracking her helm and breaking her nose.  Nurgle telekinetically flung her into a wall with a flick of his wrist.  He pulled the Guardian Spear from his cheat and snapped the Master-crafted weapon in half like it was a twig.

With a bloodthirsty snarl, Leman‘s axe bit into the back of Nurgle’s head, yet all this did was produce a chuckle.  Nurgle flipped Leman over his shoulder with one hand and then telekinetically lifted him up by his throat.  He slammed Russ to the ground with a snap of breaking bones and ceramite.  The Plague God bounced the Wolf King like a ball and with his finger sent him crashing in a heap of broken power armor and mangled flesh next to Aella.

It was this exact moment Constantin Valdor knew they were being toyed with.  Nurgle could have had them buried in the sheer number of daemons he could throw at them, but Nurgle had let them come into his inner sanctum because he was bored.  Because he needed a break from brewing suffering for every living thing in this universe.

Valdor retrieved his spear, sparing a glance to see Jenetia furiously hacking at the lock of the cage containing Isha.

“Mother Father, Malcador Sagittarius, my fellow Ten Thousand, it appears I will be joining you soon.”  Valdor said.

He would not run from death, all his life he had faced it head on, knowing that one day he would give his life for the Emperor and mankind.

Valdor opened fire, hyper-velocity bolter rounds punching through Nurgle’s back.  The god turned to face him, just as Valdor’s spear plunged into his heart.  Valdor withdrew his spear, and struck at the plague god’s head only for Nurgle to block the blow with his arm.  The spear once wielded by the Emperor left no mark on the plague god.  Valdor leapt back and drew his Misericordia, He feinted, a sweep to the gut and then raised the dagger high, ready to plunge into Nurgle’s head.  He caught the blow and then with only a moderate increase in pressure, shattered Valdor’s arm.

Valdor dropped his dagger and howled in pain, his legs turning to mush from the sheer agony.  Never before had he experienced such a sensation. Never before had he been so overwhelmed by a single foe.  

But this was the only the beginning of Valdor’s suffering.  Nurgle raised his right hand and quicker than the Khan on his bike, plucked out Valdor’s remaining eye. 

Valdor found himself lifted up by his throat, he could smell the stench of the plague god, and it was the smell of rotting fat and tainted water.  It was a smell of death itself   He tried to struggle to do something, but what strength he had remaining was fleeing like Night Lords from a fair fight.  

“Any last words before I grind you up with my mortar and pestle and use your body as ingredients for my next malady?”  Nurgle said.

“I know why you fear Him.  Why you fear humanity.  You fear Him because he offers an alternative.  He offers hope.  You fear humanity because you need us.  You need us like starving man need sustenance.  You can’t exist without us, but mankind can exist without you.”

“No wonder He likes you so much.” Nurgle spoke with a wet sneer. Nurgle tightened his grip around Valdor’s throat, only to suddenly scream as the beam of an Adrathic Destructor severed his arm at the elbow.  A second beam incinerated Nurgle’s head, pus and singed gristle spilling from the hole in his skull.   

Nurgle turned and telekinetically yanked the priceless archeotech weapon out of the Custodes’ hand and crushed it.  He then stomped on Constantin’s chest, breaking his remaining ribs and leaving a huge hole in his abdomen.

“Do you wish to have your wings clipped little eagle?”  Nurgle said through freshly regenerated lips.  Aella made an obscene gesture she had picked up through her Blackshield father, than brandished her broken Guardian Spear.  Nurgle laughed, only to be cut off as a frost axe beheaded him. The headless body vanished a flash of green light, then reappeared in front of Leman Russ and punched him in the chest, so hard his primary heart flew out of his torso.

“Not again!”  Leman cursed before a second punch shattered his bearded jaw.

Aella stabbed the spearhead of her broken weapon into Nurgle's back, than lobbed a plasma grenade in his face when he turned to face her.  Nurgle emerged from the detonation unscathed, his black fingernails now incisor like talons that parted Auramite like it was paper and dug deep into her flesh.  Aella didn’t even have time to scream.  The poison lacing them was already doing its work filling her vision with hallucinations and slowly stealing the breath from her lungs.

While this was all going on, Jenetia Krole and Rogal were simultaneously striking at the cage containing the Eldar goddess

Even with the strength her vratine armor lent her, Jenetia was only mortal, the lock of the cage would be broken by her soullessness not her impressive physical strength.

“Why are you helping me?”  Isha asked.

+My father is dying.  I need you to heal him+ Jenetia said.

“Nurgle will kill you all.  You cannot free me pariah.  You do not think I have tried to free myself from this living nightmare?”

+I do not care.  All I ask is that you heal Him+

“And just who is your father you abomination?”  Isha asked.

+The Emperor of Mankind.+

“Even more of a reason not to. Why would I heal that freak of nature? That arrogant young god who thinks he's a mortal?  That defiler of the gifts the Old Ones gave to the Aeldari?  Do you know how many of my children he slaughtered?  And his wife,  By Asuryan, that woman-”

+All I ask is that you heal him in exchange for us freeing you.  That's all.  He gave me a family when I had nothing.  He loved me even when being close to me caused Him agony.  He gave me a purpose; He became my Father when I needed one.  And I want scared, hated little girls like I once was to have the same chance I did.  +

“I see.  If you a somehow free me I'll heal him.  But in return I want a cease fire between my children and your accursed Imperium.  “

Rogal Dorn looked like he was going to throw up in his mouth.

+Fine.+

She kept hacking, channeling her utter silence in the Warp through Veracity.

She ignored Valdor's cry of pain, desperately trying not to turn to see him.  It took every ounce of willpower not to rush to his side and save his life like she had done so many times.

The lock was breaking.  Every blow cracked it.  They were close.  So close.

Than Nurgle ripped out Rogal Dorn's left lung.

To his credit Rogal did not scream.  He reversed his grip on the Sword of Balenight and rammed through his own cheat so Leman Russ’s beloved blade could taste the blood of a Chaos God. Nurgle snarled, drove his fist through his back and removed Rogal’s liver.

There was a crack as the lock the cage broke, a trickle of power slithered through

That trickles became a current, the current became, a river, the river became on ocean.

The cage cracked and groaned, a shrill moan of cracking hell forged metal filled Jenetia’s ears.   

“NO!  NO!  NO!”  Nurgle howled his chins jiggling, has belly swinging like a pendulum as he strode to the cage.  The raw energy of the Warp boiled in his hand, but he was shoved back by a cyclone of wind before he could do anything with it.

The air crackled, as Isha strolled leisurely past Jenetia and the collapsed Rogal.  Every step she took left grass growing in her wake,   In her right was a simple staff of wood.  In her left was a hunting dagger,  a gift from her husband Kurnous forged by Vaul.  Runes of fate and battle shimmered around her.

Nurgle snarled, as his rusted plate armor, shifted over his corpulent form, He conjured a mace in one hand, a war scythe in the other.

“Do you want to do this my love?” Nurgle said.

“My love is dead.  And another will not have my heart you pathetic excuse of a god.”  Isha said.

“Over the millennia I entertained the idea of giving you to Slaneesh, but now I must give it serious consideration.  Nurgle said

Isha reply was not in words, but in the dagger to the belly.  Not even the Emperor was as fast as her.  She bashed him on the head with her staff, than knocked the scythe from his hands.  She stabbed Nurgle again, and again.  Each wound she inflicted summoned screams of pain from Nurgle. Each wound Isha inflicted did not heal or produce a laugh of amusement.  

With a flick of her wrist, Isha removed the hand Nurgle held his mace in.  With a gesture the grass that had formed beneath the goddess turned into thick, thorn vines that engulfed Nurgle.  She than plunged her dagger deep into his many chins  

In a poof of green smoke and a scream that would echo throughout the Warp, Nurgle vanished

+He’s not dead is he?+  Jenetia asked.

Isha sighed.  “No he is not, but he is closed to as banished as possible, but he will recover his strength soon.  We must be gone from this wretched place.  Grab your friend’s abomination before Nurgle’s minions show up.”

I guess I’m carrying you after all Constantin.  Jenetia thought

   s

 .