#webway portals

[ahrimansstuff]

So, I've just finished listening to The Ashes of Prospero and one of the things that surprised me was how the members of the Space Wolves 13th Great Company seemed to show regret at their actions on Prospero after they realized that Horus gave them the order to destroy Prospero and the Thousand Sons legion.

I know that the Emperor had originally ordered Russ to simply bring Magnus back to Terra and that it was Horus who changed the order to destroy the Thousand Sons, but I had thought that the Space Wolves dispised the Thousand Sons enough to not care about whether they exterminated them all or not or who the order came from, but this does not seem to be the case. Bulveye, the 13th Great Company leader even says that Thousand Sons could've been an ally to the loyalists during the Horus Heresy if it were not for Horus' orders.

[nadas-dirthalen]

For the intimacy prompts, a little of number 18 for heliorix?

HELLOOOOO friend, thank you for your patience—it's been a hard week, and I've only just found the drive to finish one more of these!

18. Playing with each other's hair

(Answering these!)

----

After a dozen days in the Dark City and longer in the Webway, the span of stars over Janus is welcome light. It filters through a wide set of windows on the far wall, flooding the room in silver.

When the Lux in Obscuro comes for them, having answered their distress call the evening they spilled from that final portal, all this will change. The light will come from lumens; the pleasant cool from filtered air. All of the Koronus Expanse will matter again.

For now, half-awake in this wide, shared bed, Heinrix is... free.

What a thought—too large to hold, here on the edge of another sweet dream.

What he can hold in this fragile quiet are strands of Heliora's dishwater blonde hair, further softened and darkened in the dim. He doesn't know when his fingers first made their foray through her hair, brushing faintly along her scalp—only that she shivered, just once, and offered up the smallest of soft hums.

Without even a sliver of his sorcery, she slipped back into sleep. Her breathing slowed again, even as he worked his way through her hair over and over, watching the strands fall past the curve of her bare shoulder as he released them.

In the dead of night, they're the same hue as her spinal augmetics, just inches from his bare chest. Once, the sight of the metal novae through a crisscross of lace was enough to unravel his higher faculties, to leave him breathless and half-mad.

Fool he was, to believe such fascination to be the peak of this enchantment; to think the hollow when he left her then was the worst he'd have to endure.

What a thought—too far a fall to plunge into now, lest despair follow him into sleep when the floral scent of her hair could carry him there instead.

Not yet, though; not yet, while there is still light enough to watch the stars' glow play over these golden strands as they curve along his knuckles.

Not while the Lux in Obscuro hasn't reached them yet.

Not until all the Expanse must matter again, too soon.

[themorrignasystem]

SILVA TENEBRIS LOREDUMP

(MAC'S FORGEWORLD)

Silvra Tenebris was a tomb world of the Szaregon dynasty. It was awoken during the early age of the imperium, slowly awakening over time. The awakening quicking during the era indomitus when explorators of the adeptus mechanicus invaded the planet. Once on the planet, the mechanicus forces invaded and scoured the planet. During their invasion of the planet, the mechanicus forces had a rebellion led by a known heratek. During this rebellion, Techpriest scavola sided with the heratek rebellion and killed Fuastinius in on one combat. Due to the fallen leader, the mechanicus forces suffered a skishm, with Lector-Dogmatis Videx dumping all the mechanicus forces on the planet and leaving, thus leaving the new leader Scavola and the remaining forces, which includes Xenobiologis Tiresus, Subdomina Khepra, Quartermaster Rho, Prime-Hermeticon Captrix, and Magos Dominus Reditus. The focres now lead by Scavola managed to establish an alliance with the Necrons of the tombworld. 

They eventually dubbed themselves “The Court of the cog”, with Lord Szaregon and Lady Tech-aquisitor scavola as its leaders, using the mechanicus leaders to supplement the court members that fell during the original invasion. At some point, during interrogations with a void dragon C’tan shard, the shard spoke of an accession beyond flesh, even beyond Magos Dominus Reditus’s ascension. One techpriest, Madoc Fuego, decided to speak with the shard personally, and both disappeared for a long amount of time. After the period of time was done, a machine spirit calling itself Machina Furem emerged, showing a hybridization of the C’tan shard and the techpriest. The machine spirit however, also speaks of memories that was not Madoc Fuego’s, perhaps suggesting it is several techpriests and the C’tan shard. The machine spirit shown extreme interest in learning, so Szaregon and Scavola treated it as their child, and it learned all that the Court of the Cog could teach it. The machine spirit eventually figured out how to open temporary webway portals, and subsequently the Court of the Cog purged the world of the Flayed ones and the Destoryers.

However, not all would be well, as eventually  Lector-Dogmatis Videx returned with a full fleet to perform an Exterminautus on the Heratekinca of the World. The court of the cog used hybrid Necron-Mechanicus tech to create a defense system that woud assult ships with bolts of Guass, and trace the beams with Necrodermis, thus ensaring and webbing the ship. The ships were then siphoned of motive force, thus stunning them. This meant that the exterminuatus fleet were ensared and pulled onto the planet, wrecking them. Lector-Dogmatis Videx’s forces were attacked and subsequntly defeated. Lector-Dogmatis Videx was captured and brought before Lord Szaregon and Lady Scavola. They decided to punish Lector-Dogmatis Videx by stripping him of his augmentics and wiring him into a vox system. 

Some time after, a large shard of the C’tan Maldogoth emerged, and began a schism in the Court of the Cog, thus starting the War for tenebris. During the War for tenebris, forces lead by Maldrogoth began to use necron biotransferanse technology to capture and convert forces of the court of the cog to his side. Maldrogoth eventually seized the artefact of the Court of the Cog, but in a last ditch effort, the court of the cog split the artefact into 8 shards. Madrogoth seized 4 shards, and began to create a large device dubbed Maldrogoth’s Grasp, emplaced at the north pole of the planet, and connected to the core of the planet. Maldrogoth’s forces began to work on the tombs of the planet, carving strange pathways into the planet, and using scarabs and tomb spiders to carve sections of the tomb. When the carving was done, Maldrogoth used Maldrogoth’s Grasp to ensnare the star of the system, and drag it into the planet, and the purpose of Maldrogoth’s wrath was revealed; the star was ensared and forced into the planet’s core, desabilizing the planet, and the carved sections shifted, enlarging the planet and allowing every tomb to be powered by the star. The maldrogoth shard reveled in this, as it meant that it could use the newfound power to power Maldrogoth’s grasp even more. With more modifications, Maldrogoth’s grasp became even more powerful, allowing it to breech the webway and the warp, ensnaring all neabry ships and pulling them onto the surface of the planet, where tehy are scrapped for technology. The maldrogoth shard was distracted enough during the modifactations to Maldrogoth’s grasp that Prime-Hermeticon Captrix was able to assiante it by pushing it into the star core if the planet, however due to the nature of the C’tan shard, this did not kill it, but instead made it comatose. 

In current times, the Court of the cog are mostly defeated, lying hidden in inactive tomb sections, hoping that machina furem coud organize an effort to purge Maldrogoth’s forces. 

Due to the horrid atomosphere generating constant storms, and the high gravity of the enslaved star, hover technology doesnt work on Silvra tenebris, thus the mechanicus of the forge world adopted achhranid like patterns to their bodies and vehicles. It is not suggested to fly on Silvra tenebris, as the constant storms and dense atmosphere make flying difficult and dangerous. Due to the reshaping of the planet, large pillars of blackstone emerged along the coastlines and beaches of silvra tenebris, much akin to basalt pillars. 

Over the years, many factions have come to or been grounded on silva tenebris, making it a constant battleground. It is of interest to those who know about, as it holds many secrets and technologies on it. 

The factions under Machina furem regularly come to the planet to save the planet, but so far it has been to no avail. The factions include the Mechancus cult of the Machinasiah, which believe machina furem to be the omnisaih, the Adeptus soroitus cult of the Order of the Blessed cog, which are akin to the Machinasiah cult but also are mostly fanatical electropreists, using both augments of electropreists and arcoflagelants to create electrified zealots. The chaos cult of The Lord of Technology, which worship the warp nature of Machina furem. The Tau cult of Fio’Tek-O, which have learned the lies of the Etherals and decided to side with Fio’Tek-O. 

Live doc link:

This is the setting for my Warhammer 40k DnD 5e campaign!

[askrobouteguilliman40k]

Finished reading, Da Big Dakka.

Mike Brooks does it again, not only giving us amusing green skins, but interesting Drukhari. We see an Archons plan to cause some chaos to grab control of one of Crommargga's port city's quickly spiral our of control as she failed to realise just how chaotic Orks are.

Orks over riding a webway portal to get around, blatant missue of teleportation tech everywhere re... What else? Oh yes, two Drukhari falling in love... And being fucking confused by it.

And a trans Succubus!

This book has a lot to offer and is a good continuation of Ufthak's story.

Now to wait for Mike Brooks to release his Lilith book.

[chronicle-of-isha]

SS: Craftworld Iyanden 3: A Divine Inheritance

Craftworld Iyanden appeared from the deep blue of the Webway, emerging from the void of space like a golden sewing needle punching through the black fabric of reality. Several other bright yellow and blue vessels appeared around it, traveling in the wake of the much larger Craftworld like schools of dolphins and anchovies following a blue whale.

"Temporary Webway portal transit successful." One of the navigators reported from their terminal. All the bridge crew were helmed and armored, ready for combat as the Craftworld traveled over the debris field of Eclipse-class cruisers orbiting an orange and black planet.

"All ships maintain dispersed formation around the Craftworld." Autarch Filimerthex commanded, face hidden by a twin-plumed full face helmet. "As a reminder, Saim-Hann shall not open his mouth again so easily. You will need to buy time for us to enter the Webway again should we come under attack. I want periodic sensor pulses as well as all escorts and fighter squadrons in reconnaissance formation. Our scouting parties and the Farseers saw no sign of the Mon-keigh, but remember that the thoughts and actions of the irrational, insane, and immature are the bane of prophecy and planning. Be on your guard for anything."

Battleship class Void Stalkers and battlecruiser class Phoenix ships deployed their fighter squadrons as the frigates and destroyers drifted further away from the group in scouting formations. Meanwhile, Iyanden herself drew closer to the debris field.

"Barbarians…" muttered one of the navigators as she looked through the sensors of the ship with her psychic touch. The remains of Mon-keigh vessels were still impaled in some of the Aeldari ships, and she could see signs of friendly fire on their primitive vessels. The Mon-keigh had driven into the Aeldari fleet here in a suicidal charge, almost dead set in killing ten or more of themselves in order to take the life of a single Aeldari.

Filimerthex grimaced under the helm, hearing and feeling the hate in the Eldar on the bridge. It was a good thing that he had received permission from the Seer Council to keep the images and sensor readings from the Craftworld away from the central psychic lattices. The blood of their species had been spilled in a suicidal manner by these Mon-keigh. The brutal tactics showed that the Mon-keigh's desire to kill them outweighed their own basic survival instincts. That was enough evidence to understand just how much the Mon-keigh hated them, so it was only natural to hate them equally back in kind.

However, neither he nor Iyanden had time for vengeance.

Sensor readings and psychic notes from the other Eldar entered Filimerthex's mind as he connected deeper with the ship itself, providing him with a complete report of all that was around them.

Most of the Aeldari military ships had been destroyed by Mon-keigh weaponry, but several of the civilian ships showed signs of internal sabotage. The Wraithbone had torn apart the ship's own engines, a feat that was only possible with Aeldari abilities.

"Prepare boarding parties for all of the civilian ships." Filimerthex ordered. "Send some of our light-cruisers to investigate. There are no lifesigns aboard, so it shall be easy enough for them."

Many of the Eldar found these sabotaged ships odd ever since the first reports from the scouting party had returned. The creation of Wraithbone was a trait only their species had, but no sane Aeldari or Eldar would think to use it to sabotage an entire ship. It would be far easier to use a plasma grenade or their psyker powers to disable the ships than to force Wraithbone to grow into the engines. It would have taken several dozen Bonesingers hours to do that, and that was with the rather unrealistic assumption that the crew of the ship did nothing to impede the would-be saboteurs.

Part of Iyanden's flotilla separated in order to investigate the sabotaged ships. Filimerthex eyes followed the ships grimly. The boarding parties would no doubt return with more questions than answers, but there were other things to investigate in parallel.

The planet they currently orbited was recorded in the void-charts of Iyanden, but the writhing crust and plumes of lava could not have been further from what was supposed to be there.

"Divert some of our escorts to the planet. I want sensor readings for what happened here." Filimerthex ordered. "Have we established an all-clear perimeter?"

"Reconnaissance units and all associated fighter squadrons and escorts report no contact." One of the other navigators answered. "We are alone, Autarch."

"Good." Filimerthex nodded. "Prepare our salvage ships, but maintain vigilance. We shall not waste what we do not have to. However, all shipmasters are to return to the Craftworld at the first sign of anything at all."

Psi-drones and other craft detached from the hull of the Craftworld, utilizing telekinesis and Bonesinging to cut apart and collect the remains of the Aeldari cruisers. Wraithbone could be replaced, psychically charged crystals could be regrown, but specific structures such as Pulsars, Starcannons, solar sails, and gravitic drives required time and extravagant materials in order to construct. Although not necessary, it was an undeniable waste to leave the remains of their empire's ships behind, no matter how small.

"We have the preliminary planetary readings, Autarch." One of the navigators reported to Filimertex. "The core and mantle of the planet are in a state of constant flux, churning and re-stratifying itself allowing buried water and gasses to be freed into the atmosphere. Precipitation cycles have already begun on the cooler segments of the crust, dragging down the excessive dust and silica, while leaving enough in the stratosphere so solar radiation exposure is reduced to the levels necessary to foment amino-acid formation. Given another hundred years, or perhaps even several decades, the planet shall become the seed for a Maiden World."

"And the reason for this sudden change?" Filimerthex asked back. "Is there evidence of an asteroid strike or some other external input of energy?"

This planet was supposed to be a mostly dead world. It may have been volcanic, but the continents had been fixed in place, as well as the general location of the magma flows beneath it. This raging primordial sea of molten rock was nothing like it. Thermal and kinetic energy coursed through it like blood, pumping the magma and washing away the crust. Such events could only be brought about by an external source of energy, and the only realistic one was from the impact of another interstellar body.

"No." The Navigator shook his head. "We have not found any new satellites, or change in planetary mass that would indicate an external source for this change."

"Then, the cause must be truly not of this realm." Filimerthex muttered.

"There are traces of psychic disturbances here, but they could have been from the Mon-keigh's Warp drives." One of the other Navigators countered.

In return the Autarch snorted.

"With these numbers?" He sighed. "The traces of Warp transit and the number of identified Mon-keigh wrecks do not match, not to mention the number that would have been required to entirely destroy our kin." A holographic summary of the psychic traces identified by the Craftworld's sensors appeared with a wave of his hand and he sent it to all of their terminals. "Something has removed the psychic traces of what has happened here, including the psychic cause for the planet's change."

"That is quite the leap of logic, Autarch." A different Eldar replied.

There is nothing here, therefore someone must have hidden it. A ridiculous kind of logic that bordered on conspiracy theory. That was the Autarch's reasoning. Under normal circumstances, anyone would have found the claim dubious.

However, at this moment…

"It is the only one that makes sense with what we have before us." Filimerthex said as he leaned back in the command throne. "The remains of several rag-tag patrol fleets from our Empire, the signs of battle with Mon-keigh, and the vision we all saw." The Autarch tapped a finger against his helm as he spoke. "The Aeldari who were here wouldn't have had the devices necessary to bring about this change, and even if they did it would not have resulted in this. The Mon-keigh's definition of terraforming is not much better than landscaping or backyard horticulture. Even with their most destructive weapons, the best they can do is burn a planet to cinders. Therefore…"

He stood up from the command throne, as a holographic image of the plane took center stage on the bridge.

"She did this, just as she was responsible for what you all saw. However, all traces of her have been erased."

"What does this mean, Autarch?" Another of the bridge crew asked.

Ships sabotaged by Wraithbone.

A planet reborn through extraordinary means.

A vision of death and rebirth.

Missing traces of what all other circumstantial evidence indicated should be there.

It was a myriad of conflicting messages that even the Eldar found confounding.

"I do not know…" Filimerthex admitted with a shrug. "But, she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too." The Autarch returned to the command throne, before uttering his next orders to the flotilla. "Prepare our planetary landing craft. Direct them to the place with the least amount of psychic traces. That is where she would have been closest to."

—----------------------------------------

The ground Leader of the 10th Guardian squad, Seridin, checked the seals on his suit as he felt the landing craft slow its descent. A feeling of dread was spreading through him and all the other Guardians who had been assigned this reconnaissance mission.

They had done as the Autarch said, focussing on the place with the least traces of psychic energy, but it was not a simple void they approached. The very air felt like it had been scorched; purified till not even the smallest mote of dust, spore, or even microbe was left. He could feel his psychic senses recoil at the sheer emptiness that they had begun to enter.

The immaterium was something they were all accustomed to, and even though it was now filled with the whispers of She who Thirsts, they could hear the currents of the Othersea even in the depths of space. Now, there was a silence that they had not heard even in the darkest gaps between the stars.

And they knew instinctively why it felt like that to them.

They were entering the cauterized remains of a crater-like wound; flesh and skin seared till they were nought but black ash. From a distance, the background sounds of the immaterium masked the wound's presence much like frothing waves would hide a shallow reef, but now that they were descending into the pit, it was all too clear just how unnatural it was.

'We near the surface.' The pilot, Vythira, communicated psychically from her sealed cockpit. 'Precipitation falls, but keep your suit's atmosphere separate from the surroundings. The waters are caustic and the air will sear your lungs should it enter them. The ground remains solid on this region of the planet, but it is not like the others. Be prepared for anything.'

Images from the sensors of the landing craft entered his mind, giving him a 360 degree view of all that there was around them before he disembarked.

The ground was solid as the pilot had said, however, geyser vents, spikes, stone slabs, cavernous crevices, and vitrified craters covered it. A pile of collapsed rubble lay scattered across off in the distance, spreading across the entire western horizon. Solidified lava flows sizzled as black raindrops fell upon them, still well over several hundred degrees in temperature.

Seridin activated the accelerators in his Shuriken catapult with a thought as he put a hand to the plasma grenades on his belt.

A battle had been fought here, and a cataclysmic one at that. There was obvious physical evidence of geological manipulation, but the psychic traces left by whoever or whatever molded the metals and minerals had all been erased.

'Transfer operational command to me, and open the doors.' Seridin commanded. 'Keep the ship hovering, and ready to lift off at a moment's notice, but remain close. This is not the place to waste our lives.'

'As you wish.' Vythira replied, and air hissed as the gaskets of the landing craft loosened before the doors opened outwards, providing temporary cover on either side. The lead Guardian and his second exited the craft and took cover by the doors, scanning the terrain on either side. Seridin himself moved up as the others followed.

'Path clear.' A brief psychic report came from the lead Guardian and his second.

'Move up.' Seridin ordered, and the two excited from cover and jogged to two separate stone slabs as Seridin and another Guardian took their places behind the doors and watched their comrades backs.

The two disappeared from sight for a moment, and a tense second passed before the psychic message. 'Clear.' came from the both of them.

A short sigh of relief exited Seridin's nose as his muscles relaxed slightly.

"Move up, and form an extended wedge formation." He ordered the rest of the Guardians vocally.

They were here to reconnoiter the area assigned to them. Other landing craft were far away, both to increase the ground they could cover, and to avoid falling into the same trap should there be one. Seridin's group would travel from the field of stone slabs towards what should have been a continuous line of valleys and gorges, but the landmarks had disappeared leaving only rivers of lava.

They trekked across the ground in that direction, sliding down and then climbing up the lips of craters without event as the landing craft followed 50 or so meters behind them, hovering a short hop above the ground. No ambush or earthquake disturbed them as they marched through the blank rain. The only thing that was there to upset them was the endless emptiness that surrounded them on all sides, weighing down on their soul as if they'd been transported deep into abyssal waters where no light nor sound was allowed.

"Seridin, I've found something." One of the Guardians called out to him. "The woman's tone was grim, but not alarmed.

"Hold position." Seridin ordered, and he walked over to where the Guardian who had called him was.

As he approached, the oppressive feeling increased. His vision flickered between what was before his eyes, and an endless blackness on all sides that he could do nothing but march through.

Seridin whispered a short prayer to Asuryan, the Aeldari's creator, and reinforced his mental wards. Counter-intuitively, the source of the emptiness was of the immaterium itself. Thoughts and concepts bled off from it, infecting his mind with information he could not understand.

Finally, the Guardian who called him came into sight. She was looking at something buried in the ground, and although her face was hidden behind her helmet, Seridin could tell from her body posture that she was confused.

"What have you found?" Seridin asked the Guardian as he entered arms reach.

"A weapon, a message, or a mistake I do not know." The woman answered.

She was staring at what looked like the fletching of an arrow buried in the ground. It was bone-white and almost crystalline looking; the tell-tale sign of Wraithbone. But, they could also feel that the source of the visions that whispered to them was buried at the other end of it.

"Do we dare touch it?" The Guardian asked warily. This was obviously a battlefield, and although the arrow appeared archaic, it was a psychic artifact of unknown power. There was no telling what it would do when unearthed.

Seridin paused for a moment to consider his options, then decided to take a gamble.

"We know not how long we have left before we have to leave. I shall speak to the Wraithbone directly. If it is of our blood, then it should speak to us at the very least."

He motioned for the other Guardian to step back, then stretched his palm out to the fletchings of the arrow to commune with it directly.

"Seridin." A ghostly whisper tickled his ear. The tone was familiar for some reason, although he couldn't remember where he had heard it.

A smile crossed his face as the first bit of his gamble paid off by not immediately blowing up in his face, then he felt an invisible force grab his hand and wrap it around the buried shaft of the arrow.

"Seridin. Seridin? Seridin!" A cacophony of voices called out his name cooing in motherly tones while proud victorious laughter echoed in his eardrums as soft cooling hands stroked his cheeks.

"SERIDIN! WAKE UP!" He opened his eyes to see the Guardian shaking him by the shoulder with one hand while her Shuriken catapult pointed at his hand, the hand still gripping the arrow.

"I'm fine." He answered wearily. "I'm… fine. How long was I gone?"

"Only a second, but I saw you open your psychic senses fully." The other Guardian muttered. "You know how dangerous that is." Her hand had released Seridin's shoulder, but the Shuriken catapult was now slowly pointing towards the Lead Guardian.

"My soul is still pure." Seridin answered angrily at the underlying accusation. "And I still serve the Craftworld."

A tense moment passed, then the Guardians finger left the Shuriken catapult's trigger.

"Then, for all our sakes, let us hope the voice you heard was not Hirs." The woman sighed before adopting a more amenable tone. "What did we find, Seridin?"

The Lead Guardian looked down at his own hand, still buried in the ground with the arrow, then slowly pulled both free. A Wraithbone arrow with a golden point emerged from the dirt. Grains of soil fell away from it like droplets of water, leaving it entirely unblemished.

"A lesson." Seridin spoke slowly, as he looked at the perfect harmony between immaterial matter and the paradoxical paranormal phenomenon that it was tipped with. "A lesson that will take a long time to learn, but we can learn regardless."

Suddenly a psychic message struck all of them. 'Seismic activity increasing! All Guardians, return to landing craft! What we stand upon is not what it seems!'

No sooner had they received the message, the ground crackled and rumbled as a ripple traveled through it like a tidal wave.

'All Guardians fall back to the landing craft!' Seridin mentally shouted as he stumbled back to the swiftly approaching ship that had been hovering behind them. His hand remained wrapped around the arrow, holding it to his chest even though he could feel its glowing point sting and singe his psychic senses.

The pitch of the rumbling earth changed, and with a final crack, stone pillars burst from the ground around them. Each was tens of meters tall, and as they emerged to their full height, seams split open revealing a hidden lid which slid back down into the ground, revealing each stone pillar to be a coffin containing the ruined remains of one of their greatest weapons.

"Psychomatons?!" Seridin shouted out in amazement, stopping his feet to stare up at the machines embedded in the rock coffins.

"Seridin! Return to the ship! We need to leave!" The other Guardians called out as they passed him, but he remained where he was.

"Hold!" He ordered. "The ground's shaking stills. Our ancestors watch over us, and no harm shall come to pass under their gaze."

Even before the words left his mouth, the shaking slowed then stopped leaving only the pitter patter and hiss of acid rain falling around them.

The other Guardians slowly returned to Seridin.

"Lead Guardian, we cannot afford to be loose with our lives. Death is not the end for us." The woman who had originally found the arrow hissed.

"But our death is not yet here." Seridin shot back as he stepped towards the nearest Psychomaton.

"What happened to them?" Another of the Guardians asked. "They barely hold their shape."

Each one had all its limbs stored with them, but it was obvious that they were far from fighting form. Melted edges and blown apart joints showed that each and every one of them had lost all of their limbs, before someone picked them up and buried them together.

"Yes." Seridin acknowledged the status of his ancient ancestors. "But their souls still remain."

All other Psychomatons had been left as empty shells when She who Thirst's scream broke into the materium; Wraithbone and blackstone bodies left behind like the shed carapace of an insect.

"How is that possible?" Another Guardian asked as they stepped closer, following Seridin towards the Psychomatons. "They are avatars of war and excessive violence from our dark past. All the others went to She who Thirsts on the day of the Fall."

"I do not know…" Seridin admitted as he reached the base of the nearest coffin, and stared up at the Psychomaton's serrated head. "But these ones are hers."

He could hear the same whispers from the Wraithbone arrow coming from them. Smells and sights of fresh grass and warm sunlight filtered through a green canopy of trees emanated from the cores of each Wraithbone construct.

"Their hands glow gold." Another commented.

Where there should have only been bone white and obsidian black, a third color tipped the blade-like fingers of each one.

"They were Aeldari once. They can learn all that we can, and the one who left this lesson tutored them in person." Seridin said as he looked back down at the gold-tipped arrow. "Call for our Bonesingers or larger transport craft." He ordered. "We cannot leave these survivors of the Fall behind. We are Iyanden. Our empire is what we wish to reclaim. They were part of it, and thus walk upon the same strand of fate as us."

—----------------------------------------

The Autarch Filimerthex gazed up at the remains of the Psychomatons, still entombed in their stone coffins. It had only taken a few days to separate all of the colossal constructs from the planet's crust, and grow a disposable Webway gate large enough to transport them to the Craftworld. However, the ancient ones were not taken aboard as honored guests. Currently, the entire platoon was in storage near the outskirts of the Craftworld, as far away from the Shard of Khaine as they could be placed. This entire section of Iyanden could be jettisoned at a moment's notice, and several Guardians were placed outside to ensure no-one else could approach them.

They had left the planet and were back to the original course the Farseers had predicted would be the safest in the Eastern rim of the galaxy. The Seer council was currently discussing what was to be done with the Psychomatons and the arrow, but a verdict has yet to be reached.

"Aethnor? Maerili? Valanon?" Filimerthex muttered at them questioningly, but the Psychomatons did not reply.

A short sigh exited the Autarch's nose as he scratched his head. He knew it was meaningless to mention old names to the Psychomatons. What they were had been hammered out of them when they stopped reincarnating. However, in a moment of loneliness, he had let loose names of old friends who were no longer here.

"What do you think about what we have become?" He asked the Psychomatons.

There was a brief silence, then a series of irritated warbles and chirps came from several of the Psychomatons.

Filimerthex snorted at their comments.

"Do not blame them. That is the price they pay to remain pure. The children who will come after them will be weaker still."

Angry clicks and crackles followed, like the sound bursting chestnuts or wet wood in a fire.

"I find that claim dubious, after seeing how many of you fell to Hir." Filimerthex replied with a raised eyebrow. "You do not remain here on your own, nor did Khaine's song keep our brothers and sisters safe. She helped you."

A begrudging moan acknowledged Filimerthex's accusation, with several grim hoots remarking on what their mother was last seen doing.

"That option is a little too late for us, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "I have already sent the Orks on a collision course with the Mon-keigh. Any attempt to undo that would fail."

Amused buzzing rang from each Psychomaton as well as some cheerful chuffing.

"If all goes well, then the Mon-keigh will remain oblivious as you say. Their collective memories are about as short as their lives. Then again, the meeting of those two species was inevitable. If the conflict is inescapable, why should the Eldar not benefit from it?"

Cautionary twanging echoed around them as the Psychomatons warned the Autarch of the other deity that they had seen, as well as where their golden blade-like nails came from.

"The thief that snuck around the outer rims of our empire." Filimerthex muttered. "Fine, Iyanden can allow the Mon-keigh to exist unmolested, so long as they remain on what is left of their federation. Biel-Tan will take longer to convince, but besides them the others will probably be too busy with internal affairs to care about the problems of the lesser species. We also take no responsibility for what our client races do to them."

Satisfied rumbling accepted the Autarchs answer, then silence fell as they transmitted Isha's final message verbatim into his brain.

The Autarch paused for a moment, then let out a tired chuckle.

"'I love you, all of you.' is it? How very motherly…" Filimerthex sighed, scratching his head with one hand as he placed the other on his waist.

"I will need your help, if that is what she wishes." He said to the Psychomatons. "The ones here may be one-half of what we were, but our kin are beginning to become only the other."

Dark laughter echoed around the room, the first Aeldari sound the Psychomatons had made in a long-time. They had seen what had happened to all those who had not boarded a Craftworld yet still lived. A rune appeared in the center of their chest glowing red and orange with fiery heat; Khaine's rune, the rune of war, murder, and violence. Baritone voices began to sing, droning endlessly as the air filled with the scent of smoke and blood. The best ways to end life were whispered to all those who would listen. The angle of the knife necessary to cut through skin, muscle, and bone. The instinctive calculations required to correct for bullet drop, or the curvature of the ground.

"Enough." Filimerthex said quietly but firmly, ending the song. "I will need at least one volunteer. But, be prepared. Knowing what I do about them, whoever gets sent there will be trapped in endless boredom."

Several moments filled with beeping and whistling followed, before one Psychomaton gave a defeated chirp.

The Autarch nodded at the volunteer, then turned away from the Psychomatons. "I will talk with the Seer council. In the meantime, prepare yourselves for examination by our Bonesingers. Our mother's bindings will be of interest to them, and we will need more of our brothers and sisters."

A series of raspberries blew as the Autarch walked out of the room.

[findingmyrib]

Warhammer 40k conspiracy theory

The Emperor was interred in the Golden Throne not to prevent his death, but to inhibit his recovery, and all would be well if they deployed the Grey Knights to guard the webway portal and notified the Imperial Navy and shipping services to stay in port for a couple days while the Emperor recovered in bed. The question, then, becomes who is the head of the conspiracy. Rogal Dorn is the likely suspect. He's likely to have known more than most how the Throne really worked, and the whole breaking up legions to prevent one man from being able to cause as much damage as Horus did? Dorn was against that.

[tagedeszorns]

Not everything is worse in 40k!

I like how in 30k the Webway and any technology surrounding it is so mysterious and the Emperor spends a lot of time puzzling over it and keeping Magnus out of it and it's just oh-so-strange. Also: danger, Will Robinson!

And in 40k the whole Chaos bunch practically lives in there like some feral opossums inhabiting your walls. Fabius has so many portals to the webway he has to clarify which one he's talking about when he sends his guys to "defend the webway-portal!". Or Lucius' sorcerer just drives the whole Strike Cruiser with all the demons that cling to it right through it, like Karen parking over three disabled spaces at Walmart. Or the Thousand sons crawl around in it and lick its walls (probably).

So, much advanced! Many webway-understanding!

[thorne-rosenthal]

Full Necron OC pitch

Ineseht "the savior" "destroyer of the C'tan" "grand master of the ether" and many such other self given titles is a weird person by Necrontyr standards.

Before Biotransferance, he studied his way through Necrontyr academia until he could manage to elevate his family's social standing (I imagine him sneaking into a lot of parties held by academic types to learn more/steal books). He even sometimes bumped elbows with people like Szeras, Trazyn, and many well to do crypteks.

He was pretty young by the time he underwent biotransferance, and by that time had already dedicated his life to the study of the immaterium and Eldar/Krork magic. After biotransference, it became an obsession. His research was instrumental in the shattering of multiple C'tan, as well as countering Eldar magics in The War In Heaven (even if he gives himself WAY more credit than he deserves)

After the war had come to a stalemate, he was dragged back to a tombworld with everyone else, much to his dismay, since he wanted to actually go do stuff now that the war was over.

After being awoken from his sleep, he was pressed into the service of a necron overlord who's name does not matter, because Ineseht killed him for keeping him away from chasing his ambitions of becoming the galaxy's coolest Space Wizard and mastering the warp.

Coming from a slightly lower class background in Necrontyr society, he lost a lot of old friends in the soul furnaces because they hadn't gone up in the hierarchy like he did. This pushed him into outlandish radical beliefs like: social mobility is good, and maybe eternal stagnation is bad. Clearly he was a mad man...

Since his takeover of the now derisively dubbed: Etheric Dynasty, his court has become a hotbed for radical Necron political actors, and rogue Necrons of all stripes seeking freedom from the restraints of normal Necrontyr society. Or alternatively: those who want the power he claims to provide...

For you see: Ineseht is ambitious, but he has no time for patience. Since his reawakening he has been hard at work with all his most trusted crypteks building his magnum opus: The Transdimensional Ziggurat is an experimental ship drive aimed at making travel between dimensions seemless. His ship can travel between realspace, the warp, and even the webway with no need for a gateway or portal. A technology he's miniaturized and given to his most trusted commanders.

Of course, being a Necron overlord, he still keeps the cool experimental stuff for himself. Like his Anubian Gauntlet, a device afixed to his hand that allows for him to litterally tear open warp rifts with his hands (this backfires 50% of the time) or his Etheric Soul Emmiters, which generate an artificial warp presence, thereby allowing him to use actual psyker magic like he always wanted.

He is currently fighting with Tzeench, since Ineseht found out that there's just spells lying around waiting to be collected by Tzeenchian forces. His reckless chasing of chaos and Eldari relics has led to many a clusterfuck as his court frantically tries to clean up around the galaxy spanning trail of destruction caused by his need for more arcane power. He also keeps every psyker he can get his claws on, since they are too valuable for study to just kill. This causes friction even within his own dynasty. But no one wants to kill the guy giving them magic powers, and even fewer want to try and kill the guy who can scatter someone accross 4 dimensions with a solid punch

Might post about some of the other wacky guys in his orbit once I have more ideas for them. Serkeht, Oxus, and Hepthi are still in drafts.

[dryderpunk]

Found my old 4th edition webway portal,

Think it was a void grenade from apocalypse, but it's a 3" template

[the-consortium]

To Saqqura:

What will you name the Cardinal? Also, why does the bird remind you of your dad?

Arrian reads the short message, raises his head and looks at Saqqara who is watching him. "Yes, I think so too. No one else would come in to consideration. They keep popping up, they can't be eradicated, and they probably watch everything."

Saqqara nods. "Bloody Harlequins." He grimaces. "I've told the Chief Apothecary so many times to destroy the portals to the Webway! But no, he wants to keep that for whatever obscure emergency. And now we have these Eldar here forever."

"As soon as they get bored or their bizarre god stuffs a new idea into their brains, they'll be gone again for good." Arrian is obviously a little more relaxed about the whole thing. This may be because Saqqara naturally views Cegorach with much suspicion and anger, while the World Eater sees the old god as just another monster in the minds of his followers.

"But these letters are new," he said. - "And you know how persistent they are. Presumably it's cultish."

Saqqara looks at Arrian very warily, suspecting - probably correctly - mockery of religion, but Arrian only returns the look very openly and with a smile that distorts the scars on his cheek.

Finally, the Word Bearer sighs, raises his head defiantly and declaims: "To whom it may concern …. I have named the little bird Urizen because the Primarch has noted the beauty of this animal in several epistles and included it in his texts. I don't know what personal connection he has to it, possibly he finds it amusing that these birds were named after a religious rank in ancient times on Terra, which we still use today. Presumably the plumage colour refers to the colour of the prelates' clothing."

He shrugs. "And that's basically it."

[tearofisha]

Aelinor (2/?)

The next months were a steep learning curve for the former Seer. Lessons in travel, navigation and even reprovisioning were skills that the Path of the Seer had never taught her and she suffered for it now. Aelinor had begun to thoroughly regret her decision to leave when it appeared the Webway itself responded to her will. About two hundred feet away walked a figure, clad in Cameleoline and the Black of Ulthwe, with a recognisable helmet and rifle.

"Rishaeron?" She gasped. The distant figure picked up pace and jogged towards her, before it removed the helmet and confirming its identity. "Farseer?" He asked, his tone one of disbelief.

"What are you doing by yourself out here?" "Just Aelinor now, Ranger." She corrected, somewhat sheepishly.

A moment of confusion followed before Rishaerons eyes were full of both understanding and empathy.

"I see." He smirked. "Welcome to the ranks of Ulthwe's wanderers, Aelinor." He moved to walk beside her, turning her to face the opposite direction to her current bearing.

"It is either good fortune we have found one another, or the Webway brought us together. Will you travel with me? I intended to go home to resupply." Home? No, she couldn't go back so soon like a defeated Gyrinx with fluffy blue tail tucked between her legs. "Forgive me, Range-" She stopped herself, if she no longer held rank she should no longer address her former underlings by theirs. "Forgive me Rishaeron, but I have only just departed and would be loathe to return so soon." The Ranger chuckled and placed an arm over her shoulders, a casual act that made Aelinor stiffen at first; she was hardly used to any kind of contact at all, especially from the likes of an Outcast.

"Ulthwé is my home, just Aelinor. But it is not my only home. Walk with me." The Ranger continued down the given path, leading Aelinor through twists and turns while only exchanging the very smallest of small talk. She was grateful to find another of her kind, but also felt like a Shrine initiate with how little she truly knew about anything practical. Finally the Ranger turned to Aelinor, his face suddenly serious.

"About 5 people know of this place I'm about to take you, it is special to me and I hope you will keep the secret." He spoke closely, as if in conspiracy. Aelinor nodded.

"I swear it." She offered her hand to cement the promise to which Rishaeron smiled, taking her in a warriors grip instead. Then without so much as a backwards glance he fell backwards through the portal, bringing her with him.

A flash of light. A shock to the synapses and suddenly both were somewhere new. Aelinor's first sensation was of bird-song, then the high trees and perfectly blue-almost purple sky. A Maiden World? "Where?" She began to ask. "Many years ago, Aelinor, I fell in love with a Warlock of Iyabresil at the same time as discovering this world. Here we swore to build a home away from home that we could both return to during time of need. So I built a home, and we returned to being strangers once more." He pronounced with arms flapped to his sides, hiding the sadness in his voice. He had been in love? Built a home? And the whole time she had been on Ulthwe debating the skeins with greater Farseers than herself. The thought filled her with a regret akin to grief, a mourning for time lost and not spent living like Rishaeron had. "I am sorry, Rishaeron. For what happened and for never asking. What was her name?" He chuckled, perhaps a little ruefully. "I would be unlikely to divulge such information at the time, Aelinor, but thank you regardless. Her name was Solaria. She taught me to dance." The memory seemed to brighten the Ranger, as Aelinor pondered the last time she had danced. With the ancient Chapter Master of the Blood Angels she recalled, too many years ago now. "Come there is someone I would have you meet." Rishaeron began removing his weapons, pack and cloak, clearly this world was one with no immediate threats. They approached a cabin, lovingly hewn from felled trees with a thatched roof, simple wooden shutters and a little patio where some rough furniture lay. Aelinor had to admit some of the Craftsmanship was terrible, but it improved as the building continued and by the end one might assume Rishaeron had walked the Path of the Artisan. The Ranger kicked open the door and neatly began arranging his possesions as he called out. "Virtute? Virtute!" Aelinor quietly wondered if another Iyabresili was waiting, but both surprise and amusement reigned when a tiny scruffy Gyrinx trotted up to Rishaeron. "Hey buddy." He picked up the little creature and held it at eye level, only then did Aelinor notice it was missing most of one its ears giving it a lopsided expression. Clearly a rescue.

It was becoming clearer and clearer Rishaeron had a vastly bigger life than she ever gave him credit for.

"I have a new friend for you, go say hello." He placed the kitten on the ground and watched it leap into Aelinors lap, where she had self consciously found a place to sit at the foot of the bed. The purring began instantly, and Aelinor brushed behinds its ears until it began pouring at her sash. "What is its name?" She asked, already feeling more at ease. "She is Virtute. Ancient Terran, I believe it means strong." Rishaeron had the full smile only a proud parent could have. "Where did you find her?" The kitten yawned and stretched, falling asleep to the gentle stroking behind its ears. "Rescued her from a Hive World, I assisted an irritating perpetual in a personal matter and claimed her from the Underhive fool that intended to sell her." Aelinor only now realised she could not move, lest she rouse the raggedy beast. Slowly and cautiously she began removing her weaponry and passed them to Rishaeron who assisted in not distubing the now wheezing Gyrinx. "You look tired, Aelinor. Stay here a little while and travel with me, I'll teach you a little about life on the road until you can get by. It is the creed of the Outcast."

Aelinor looked up at Rishaeron and for the first time didn't see a soldier in her personal strike force, but saw a man with a complex life, scars, heartbreak, dissappointments and defeats all of his own who now offered to show her the way too. She smiled, between the familiar face and the purring engine in her lap she felt safe and comfortable for the first time in many years. "Thank you, Rishaeron." She offered her hand again, this time in a warriors grip. He accepted it, but was surprised when he was pulled into a close embrace. "I am sorry, I wish I had been a better friend to you, Wayfinder. I would be quite honoured if you showed me the steps ahead." She felt a pat on the back of the head and a returning of the embrace. "You were always wasted on Ulthwe, I am so happy to see you finally take these steps. Now no more nonsense, or you'll wake Virtute." He let go and began seaching through his pack, throwing bits and pieces into an iron stew-pot laid by the window. He struck a fire and soon the room filled with the scent of cooking herbs and vegetables, Virtute continued her nap for many hours and Aelinor kept the constant pace of her gentle stroking while gazing around the cabin. For tonight at least, all seemed well.

[gamecrag]

The Drukhari are a sadistic, hedonistic race that revels in the pain and suffering of others. They are a highly advanced civilization that has mastered technologies such as anti-gravity devices, advanced weaponry, and psychic abilities. They live in the dark city of Commorragh, which is hidden in the Webway, a network of tunnels and portals that spans the galaxy. In battle, the Drukhari rely on speed, maneuverability, and surprise to overwhelm their opponents. They have a wide range of units, including fast-moving Raiders and Venoms, deadly elite units such as the Incubi and Scourges, and powerful psykers like the Haemonculi. They also have access to terrifying creatures such as the grotesque Grotesques and the monstrous Talos. One of the defining characteristics of the Drukhari is their reliance on the drug called "Wych Cults." These drugs enhance their reflexes and senses, allowing them to fight with even greater speed and precision. However, the drugs are highly addictive, and prolonged use can lead to physical and mental deterioration. Overall, the Drukhari army is a highly mobile and deadly force that relies on speed and cunning to defeat its opponents. They are a complex faction that requires a skilled player to use effectively but can be highly rewarding for those who master them. 10) Reavers Datasheet Reavers are fast-moving units armed with a variety of deadly weapons, including cluster caltrops, grav-talon, and heat lance. They excel at hit-and-run tactics, using their speed and agility to outmaneuver enemy units and strike from unexpected angles. They are also fairly resilient, with a 4+ armor save and the ability to gain a 4+ invulnerable save against shooting attacks. 9) Hellions Datasheet Hellions are fast and agile units armed with deadly glaives. They can quickly move around the battlefield, thanks to their Skyboard ability, and strike at enemy units from unexpected angles. They are also fairly resilient, with a 4+ invulnerable save, and can use their Gruesome Talons ability to gain extra attacks in combat. 8) Wracks Datasheet Wracks are tough and resilient infantry units armed with a variety of deadly weapons, including ossefactors, liquifiers, and electrocorrosive whips. They can soak up damage thanks to their 4+ armor save, 6+ Feel No Pain save, and the ability to heal themselves during the game. They are also excellent at holding objectives, thanks to their Objective Secured ability. 7) Mandrakes Datasheet Mandrakes are fast and stealthy units armed with deadly nightfiend blades. They can infiltrate enemy lines and strike from unexpected angles, thanks to their Infiltrator ability. They are also fairly resilient, with a 4+ invulnerable save, and can use their Night Piercing ability to ignore cover bonuses when making their attacks. 6) Incubi Datasheet Incubi are highly skilled melee fighters armed with deadly klaives. They are capable of taking on tough enemy units in close combat, thanks to their high weapon skill and strength. They also have a 4+ invulnerable save, making them fairly resilient, and can use their Onslaught ability to gain extra attacks in combat. 5) Scourges Datasheet Scourges are elite warriors armed with a variety of deadly ranged weapons, including haywire blasters, heat lances, and splinter cannons. They are highly mobile, able to deep strike onto the battlefield and target key enemy units from unexpected angles. They are also fairly resilient, with a 4+ armor save and the ability to take a 5+ invulnerable save against shooting attacks. 4) Razorwing Jetfighter Datasheet The Razorwing Jetfighter is a fast and agile aircraft armed with a variety of deadly weapons, including disintegrator cannons, monoscythe missiles, and twin splinter rifles. It can move up to 90" per turn, making it one of the fastest units in the game, and can target both enemy infantry and vehicles with its weapons.

3) Talos Datasheet The Talos is a monstrous creature armed with a variety of deadly weapons, including a macro-scalpel, stinger pod, and chain-flails. It is also highly resilient, with a 4+ invulnerable save and the ability to heal itself during the game. In close combat, the Talos can dish out a great deal of damage, making it an excellent choice for taking on tough enemy units. 2) Ravager Datasheet The Ravager is a long-range weapon platform armed with three Dark Lances, making it capable of taking out enemy vehicles and monsters with ease. It is also fairly fast and maneuverable, able to keep up with the rest of a Drukhari army and take out key targets from a distance. 1) Archon Datasheet As mentioned earlier, the Archon is a key leader for any Drukhari force. Archon is highly skilled in both melee and ranged combat, and their aura of terror can cause enemy units to lose their nerve and flee the battlefield. They can also use their Command Points to grant nearby units bonuses to their attacks, making them a valuable addition to any Drukhari army.

[adeptvsastartes]

The psyker was so determined to listen to his father now-- as he now stood, leaning on his father, he finally felt something he hadn't felt in ten thousand years-- hope.

Aurelius still clung to the hope that maybe he would return to his father's good graces and love after his excommunication and the slaughtering of his Legion, the loss of his mother on Iskaarre III's destruction. He still clung to the hope that maybe, maybe, something would save what was left of his Legion when the Traitors attacked his ship and slaughtered his sons and what remained of his people harbored there. And then, it faded over ten thousand years of that wall.

In some way, the wall mirrored the Throne. Where the Throne acted as a life support, so did the wall for Aurelius. Where the Throne was a battery for the defenses of the Webway portal beneath, so was the wall for the ship's functions and defenses. Ten thousand years of constant pain, of suffering, and witnessing the slow decay of the Imperium.

... But even now, despite everything, Kusig inspired hope. Even Aurelius still couldn't help but look at him with such despite his own inner fears of being excommunicated again.

His thick brows furrowed as he stared down at the floor. The floor and his legs would be his greatest enemy.

... Then... slowly... he took a step forward. He wobbled, and his knee instantly wanted to bend, but he straightened his leg out and tried to stand again after this step. He pursed his lips-- it would be childish and weak to call for his Father, he was a Primarch. And from what he could vaguely remember, there was an expectation of strength and pride from a Primarch.

He shakily stepped again, wobbling a little.

" ... Father... " Aurelius began, managing to keep his somewhat deadpan voice, not wanting to betray his emotion. " ... Am I... doing it well enough? "

"Hold on to me." Said the ancient.

"You will take your first steps with me as your guide. Should you falter, I will be here to catch you."

The pure unbridled awe in his son's eyes was not lost to the former Emperor. He'd seen that look thousands of times in the eyes of mortals.

He'd seen it on a mother's face when her child was returned to her.

He's seen it in a warrior's eyes when faced with a blade alight with the flames of righteous vengeance.

He'd seen it in the countenances of thousands kneeling before him, unsure whether to be terrified or to rejoice.

He had never seen this look on the face of a Primarch, a perfect creation, a trueborn son who would never fall prey to age or sickness. Not even his favored son, his special one, the one whom he so utterly destroyed that not a trace of him remained, save for memories, had looked upon him with such beautiful childlike awe as this.

He'd better not waste it.

"Here,"

The ancient draped one of his son's arms over his shoulder, allowing Aurelius to balance on him as though he was injured. In a way, he was. He had not known the sensation of anything beneath his fingers for thousands of years. In that way, he and his father were alike. Kusig may have remembered how to walk, but he had not felt the touch of ground beneath his feet since his duel with Horus. He had only recently breathed again, tasted food, felt the air on his damaged skin.

When he last knew sensation, it was pure agony, lacerated organs, and shorn flesh.

"This will not be easy, but I will be here to help you."

[themorrignasystem]

what is sylvia tenebris? (sorry if i butchered the spelling)

Silva Tenebris is the setting of the video game Mechancius

A video game where an explorator fleet investiagtes a fallen colony because the world is a tomb world

I have taken it and homebrewed a world based on an alternate silva Tenebris, of which i called AST! Tenebris or Apon Silva Tenebris Tenebris, as Apon Silva Tenebris is the dnd campaign i made for this alternate version

I have lore

AST lore below cut

Silva Tenebris was a tomb world of the Szaregon dynasty. It was awoken during the early age of the imperium, slowly awakening over time. The awakening quicking during the era indomitus when explorators of the adeptus mechanicus invaded the planet. Once on the planet, the mechanicus forces invaded and scoured the planet. During their invasion of the planet, the mechanicus forces had a rebellion led by a known heratek. During this rebellion, Techpriest scavola sided with the heratek rebellion and killed Fuastinius in on one combat. Due to the fallen leader, the mechanicus forces suffered a skishm, with Lector-Dogmatis Videx dumping all the mechanicus forces on the planet and leaving, thus leaving the new leader Scavola and the remaining forces, which includes Xenobiologis Tiresus, Subdomina Khepra, Quartermaster Rho, Prime-Hermeticon Captrix, and Magos Dominus Reditus. The focres now lead by Scavola managed to establish an alliance with the Necrons of the tombworld.

They eventually dubbed themselves “The Court of Gears”, with Lord Szaregon and Lady Tech-aquisitor scavola as its leaders, using the mechanicus leaders to supplement the court members that fell during the original invasion. At some point, during interrogations with a void dragon C’tan shard, the shard spoke of an accession beyond flesh, even beyond Magos Dominus Reditus’s ascension. One techpriest, Madoc Fuego, decided to speak with the shard personally, and both disappeared for a long amount of time. After the period of time was done, a machine spirit calling itself Machina Furem emerged, showing a hybridization of the C’tan shard and the techpriest. The machine spirit however, also speaks of memories that was not Madoc Fuego’s, perhaps suggesting it is several techpriests and the C’tan shard. The machine spirit shown extreme interest in learning, so Szaregon and Scavola treated it as their child, and it learned all that the Court of the Cog could teach it. The machine spirit eventually figured out how to open temporary webway portals, and subsequently the Court of the Cog purged the world of the Flayed ones and the Destoryers.

However, not all would be well, as eventually Lector-Dogmatis Videx returned with a full fleet to perform an Exterminautus on the Heratekinca of the World. The court of the cog used hybrid Necron-Mechanicus tech to create a defense system that woud assult ships with bolts of Guass, and trace the beams with Necrodermis, thus ensaring and webbing the ship. The ships were then siphoned of motive force, thus stunning them. This meant that the exterminuatus fleet were ensared and pulled onto the planet, wrecking them. Lector-Dogmatis Videx’s forces were attacked and subsequntly defeated. Lector-Dogmatis Videx was captured and brought before Lord Szaregon and Lady Scavola. They decided to punish Lector-Dogmatis Videx by stripping him of his augmentics and wiring him into a vox system.

Some time after, a large shard of the C’tan Maldogoth emerged, and began a schism in the Court of the Cog, thus starting the War for tenebris. During the War for tenebris, forces lead by Maldrogoth began to use necron biotransferanse technology to capture and convert forces of the court of the cog to his side. Maldrogoth eventually seized the artefact of the Court of the Cog, but in a last ditch effort, the court of the cog split the artefact into 8 shards. Madrogoth seized 4 shards, and began to create a large device dubbed Maldrogoth’s Grasp, emplaced at the north pole of the planet, and connected to the core of the planet. Maldrogoth’s forces began to work on the tombs of the planet, carving strange pathways into the planet, and using scarabs and tomb spiders to carve sections of the tomb. When the carving was done, Maldrogoth used Maldrogoth’s Grasp to ensnare the star of the system, and drag it into the planet, and the purpose of Maldrogoth’s wrath was revealed; the star was ensared and forced into the planet’s core, desabilizing the planet, and the carved sections shifted, enlarging the planet and allowing every tomb to be powered by the star. The maldrogoth shard reveled in this, as it meant that it could use the newfound power to power Maldrogoth’s grasp even more. With more modifications, Maldrogoth’s grasp became even more powerful, allowing it to breech the webway and the warp, ensnaring all neabry ships and pulling them onto the surface of the planet, where tehy are scrapped for technology. The maldrogoth shard was distracted enough during the modifactations to Maldrogoth’s grasp that Prime-Hermeticon Captrix was able to assiante it by pushing it into the star core if the planet, however due to the nature of the C’tan shard, this did not kill it, but instead made it comatose.

In current times, the Court of the cog are mostly defeated, lying hidden in inactive tomb sections, hoping that machina furem coud organize an effort to purge Maldrogoth’s forces.

Due to the horrid atomosphere generating constant storms, and the high gravity of the enslaved star, hover technology doesnt work on Silvra tenebris, thus the mechanicus of the forge world adopted achhranid like patterns to their bodies and vehicles. It is not suggested to fly on Silvra tenebris, as the constant storms and dense atmosphere make flying difficult and dangerous. Due to the reshaping of the planet, large pillars of blackstone emerged along the coastlines and beaches of silvra tenebris, much akin to basalt pillars.

Over the years, many factions have come to or been grounded on silva tenebris, making it a constant battleground. It is of interest to those who know about, as it holds many secrets and technologies on it.

The factions under Machina furem regularly come to the planet to save the planet, but so far it has been to no avail. The factions include the Mechancus cult of the Machinasiah, which believe machina furem to be the omnisaih, the Adeptus soroitus cult of the Order of the Blessed cog, which are akin to the Machinasiah cult but also are mostly fanatical electropreists, using both augments of electropreists and arcoflagelants to create electrified zealots. The chaos cult of The Lord of Technology, which worship the warp nature of Machina furem. The Tau cult of Fio’Tek-O, which have learned the lies of the Etherals and decided to side with Fio’Tek-O.

(this lore serves as a campaign primer)

I have about 12+ OCs from ASTenebris

[chronicle-of-isha]

Chapter 18: Crossroad

Aeldari! The battle is lost! Our kin have fled the skies and the Webway is closed to us. We have nowhere to flee and no hope of fighting our way through the eternal enemy.

Fill your hearts with curses! Curse those who leave us here to die! Curse those who sent us here to fight on this barren world! Let your bitterness fill your voice until it becomes the banshee howl! Let the sorrow of knowing you will never see your home, or travel through the immaterium ever again fill all the spaces in your soul!

Aeldari! Fight! Fight and die! Fight for there is nothing else left to do! Die for that is what they made us for!

Let our screams pierce the veil and let our hate burn the stars! Let our might shine bright in this last moment, for we shall never shine again!

Cry out at the injustice we are made to bear! Cry out at the arrogance of our enemies and what their overreaching folly has unleashed upon us all! Scream and cry, for our pain and sorrow is what our masters want!

You will never see your children! You will never see your parents! You will see your brothers and sister, for they stand beside you just as doomed as you are!

We shall never wake in another body with the memories we scrounged and scraped and scavenged for thousands of years! All you have is now lost!

So hate! Hate and rage! Curse and wail! Fill your heart with sorrow and scream at what has been forced upon us!

This is our end! There is no future! There is no hope! Die with despair on your lips and tears in your eyes! Die cursing our gods and our kin! Die cursing our creators and our slavers! Die cursing the parents who brought us into this world of suffering and strife!

They have come! Fight or flee, it makes no difference now! Die in pain! Die alone! Die with those beside you knowing that they will be tortured just as you will be for the enemy has no mercy!

Curse! Rage! Scream! Hate! Cry, and suffer! This is our fate! This is what we were born for and what we were given everything to do!

- Autarch Alarathis 48,241,253 BC

In memory of all the souls who returned to our divine mother so new life may bless the lands where our blood has been spilled.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor returned to the secondary bridge of the Bucephelus accompanied by the crackle of psychic energy as the Warp portal closed behind it. Isha was nowhere to be seen, but the presence of the Aeldari Goddess could be felt in the dark room where it had first sung its distracting song.

The Emperor gave Isha a cursory glance with Warp sight before marching towards the captain's chair where Lysander was seated.

Everything had progressed, mostly, according to schedule.

The readings of the Eye of Terror were in the range Malcador and the others had calculated. Soon, the Warp would become calmer for several hundred years, meaning the opportunity for humanity's re-expansionism was approaching.

The remains of several Aeldari 'Soul-engines' had been recovered. Stocks of psychic crystals, Wraithbone, and blackstone had been pillaged and looted from abandoned Aeldari colonies, as well as torn from both the dead and living Psychomatons they found. All of these materials, incapable of being created by humanity, would be important in creating the psychic beacon necessary for the crusade that would take place after the reclamation of the Sol system.

Most importantly, the gene-tech that was left behind on many of the old worlds of the federation of man had been recovered safely. Almost all of the reagents, enzymes, and catalysts the Emperor had gathered during the final days of Old Night had been used up in creating the leaders and weapons that would bind humanity together. The soldiers that would be needed for them to maintain their rule would require far more.

They would be self-sufficient and capable of creating more of themselves once sufficient numbers of the Progenoid glands of each legion were completed, but the initial investment was proving more expensive in terms of gene-tech than the Emperor would have liked.

'The Selenar gene-cults will regret spurning me.' The Emperor muttered internally.

It would take another 40 or 50 years, but Terra's natural satellite, Luna, would be brought to heel. Careful preparations would be necessary for the invasion, for a single wayward bomb or lance blast could wipe out everything the Emperor wanted from them.

But, things were progressing on that front as well. The first proto-types of the 1st legion already walked with his Custodes upon Terra, gaining combat experience with their new bodies while slowly replacing the Thunder Warrior garrisons placed around the lands that had been unified into the Imperium.

Once the majority of Thunder Warriors were relieved of guard duty by the 1st legion, they would be gathered to break Mt. Ararat, the last fortress-complex of the lands of Urartu and gateway to the Ethnarchy.

When the conjoined bunkers and dugouts within the mountain were nothing but hollowed out ruins, the true changing of the guard could commence.

It was poetic in some sense that the monsters of the old world would be purged where all Abrahamic religions claimed the Ark of Noah beached itself after the great flood; the flood that wiped out all the sinful cities that incurred God's wrath.

Of course, that fictional myth was based on older legends, and the Truth of what happened was not whatever despotic messiah or ruler demanded his or her scribe write into holy scripture for their convenience.

The original story was very different when the Emperor sat upon the throne to his kingdom in ancient Mesopotamia.

The Emperor shook its head, reverting to the more distanced mindset it had instead of one of its more ancient personas. That period of history was a simpler time with allies that could be relied upon, a populace that was mostly obedient, and gods he could argue with.

Now, it was all that was left. No one else remained.

'Were they worth everything you gave them?'

The question asked in a sad voice echoed in the Emperor's mind.

He couldn't answer that question back then, and it wasn't sure of the answer now.

The only thing the Emperor did know was that there was only the path of progress, the sacrifices necessary to move forwards, and the eternal legend all humans worked to be a part of.

That path would someday lead to humanity's future and salvation.

The Emperor could still see that future, symbolized as a distant island floating on an ocean as black as night. There was no swimming in these waters, for beneath the rippling black ocean underneath the starless sky lay abyssal monsters of every kind. The only way to reach the island was to wade across the narrow sandbar hidden beneath the treacherous waves.

White foam and dark waters obscured sharp coral and slippery rocks embedded in the path that would cut or trip the Emperor should they be stepped on. The Emperor would step over them where possible, but not all could be predicted or averted. Some would have to be trodden on, and the consequences would have to be beared.

Stepping on the coral pierced skin, drawing blood and leaving burning fragments within the muscle.

Stepping on the slippery stones would cause the Emperor to lose its footing, banging shins, knees, elbows, or even its jaw against other jagged rocks.

Every time that happened, the Emperor would have to drag itself up again and push forwards, for the Emperor could never stray from or linger upon this painful path.

The cold waters of the ocean continually sapped the Emperor's strength. Only by constantly moving would enough heat be generated to resist the chilling touch of the ocean.

And the abyssal monsters that swam beneath the waves were always watching and waiting for the Emperor to fall.

If the Emperor ever fell from the path, either due to losing its footing, or from weakness as its body lost even the strength to shiver from the freezing waters, they would drag it down into the depths of the ocean. There, in their natural habitat, the Emperor would be drowned and devoured; with all its screams silenced by the weight of the water and turned into muffled froth that would float up as small bubbles to the surface.

"My Lord…" Lysander called to the Emperor. "The Titan transports should arrive in another hour, and the survivors on the Xenos slave carriers have all been rescued. We can begin the journey to the Pluto Warp gate when they arrive, but we will need your assistance to mask the fleet's presence when traveling past the outer planets and Mars to avoid detection."

The Emperor was still behind Lysander, having emerged from the Warp on the raised platform of the command deck that held the holomap and captain's chair.

The Emperor closed its eyes, switching to a more amenable persona for the occasion.

This expedition had been tiresome, and the extra baggage in the form of the Aeldari 'Catumen' was aggravating.

"As a celebration for a job well done, I thought it would be a good timing for a speech." Lysander quipped as the Emperor stepped forwards.

"A speech?" The Emperor replied with a slight laugh. "I would think a toast would be necessary as well. No celebration is complete without a good drink."

"I thought the same thing, my Lord." Lysander's chuckle came from over the high backrest of the chair that obscured his head and back from the Emperor's vision. "I've given permission to the bridge crew of the Bucephelus and the General Staff of the other ships to break out the Amasec. One quarter of a glass for all of us at a job well done. The rest of the crew will get extra-rations and a glass of Amasec with the last meal of the day."

"Prepared as always eh?" The Emperor stepped forwards, past the armrest of the captain's chair, and turned towards Lysander. "Then I guess I have no choice but to give a spee-"

—----------------------------------------

As the Emperor turned towards Lysander, he saw his Lord's brown eyes widen and the slight smile he had on his face turned into a vicious scowl. In the next moment, every hair rose on Lysander's neck as his breath caught in his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some of the bridge crew trip, falling to their knees, gasping for air as the psychic pressure of the Emperor suffused the entire bridge.

Then, the moment was gone, and Lysander sucked in mouthfuls of air like a half-drowned man as the rest of the bridge crew coughed and at least one vomited.

Lysander turned towards the Emperor only to see his Lord whip his head to the entrance of the bridge. At the same time, the pneumatic doors whooshed open just as one of the Custodes ran through it at full sprint.

The Custodes came to a stop before the Emperor and saluted, but the scowl on the Emperor's face only deepened as he inspected one of his personal bodyguards.

Golden sparks crackled from the Emperor's eyes which slowly looked up and down, left and right across the entirety of the bridge, as if he were looking through the very walls and into every corner of the massive starship.

"Lysander." The Emperor's tone was quiet and utterly devoid of all emotion. "Redirect all the Titan transports to the nearest Vengeance-class cruisers."

"My Lord?" Lysander asked, hoarsely.

The Emperor turned towards Lysandre, and he saw golden flames roaring inside the black pupils of his brown eyes. "Begin a full disembarkation of the Bucephelus to the battleships Artax and Chetak."

"A disembarkation, my Lord?" From the way the Emperor was acting, it sounded more like an evacuation order.

The only reply was a silent stare from the Emperor, and the emotionless look froze Lysander's blood in his veins.

No questions would be tolerated. No disobedience would be forgiven.

"As you will, my Lord." Lysander bowed, eager to break eye contact.

It was rare to see the Emperor so angered, but this was not the first time Lysander had seen his liege's fury. This was usually what happened when those who faced the Master of Mankind didn't accept what he said while he was smiling.

And Lysander had a good idea who the cause for his Lord's ire was.

'I had a feeling something was wrong with the Catumen…' Lysander thought to himself as he activated the ship-wide vox.

"All-hands. Proceed to your predesignated hangar bays and prepare for disembarkment. I repeat. All-hands. Proceed to the…"

Lysander repeated the message several more times as the bridge crew picked themselves up while a janitorial servo-skull removed the regurgitated contents of someone's stomach from the floor.

The Aeldari Catumen had been completely silent when it returned. Lysander had thought it would appear the slightest bit distressed after the battle with its people. Even the Emperor expressed a brooding frustrated form of sorrow, sometimes standing on the empty battlefields of Terra littered with bodies and staring off into the distance.

The Catumen, however, appeared utterly undisturbed, as if nothing had changed from when he first saw it on the bridge. It merely walked out the door without a single word, and wandered off into the ship under the watchful eye of one of the Custodes who followed closely behind her.

Lysander couldn't tell why the sight of it made him uncomfortable earlier, but he understood now after staring into the Emperor's face just now. It was the complete lack of emotion upon its beautiful face that had sent a small shiver down his spine.

Regardless, whatever was about to transpire was not going to happen immediately.

The Emperor had ordered for a disembarkation, not an evacuation. The former was an orderly transfer of people off the ship with shuttles and barges. The latter was a mad rush for every crewmate to the nearest escape pod to launch themselves into the void of space, for it would be safer there than within the ship.

Lysander finished repeating the order to disembark, and turned back towards the Emperor. His liege was glowering at a point at the edge of the room, slightly down and to the right. Gold sparks crackled periodically from his eyes, and Lysander shivered as he suddenly felt something look at him from the direction the Emperor was looking at.

The Catumen was there, beyond the walls and far below this deck looking back at the Emperor while the Emperor glowered at it. Lysander had been caught in its peripheral vision, yet even that briefest touch of the corner of its eyes caused goosebumps to form on Lysander's arms and neck.

"Bridge crew…" Lysander called out to the men and women who were on the level beneath him. Some were quivering, like newborn fawns. "We will head to our designated disembarkation point. Follow me." All of them followed him meekly, giving the Emperor a wide berth.

The Emperor turned as the last of the bridge crew passed him, and looked at the Custodes. Something unspoken passed between them, and the Custodes banged his spear against the floor of the ship once in affirmation before following the rest of the bridge crew through the door.

The walk through the Bucephelus's corridors was long and silent. Only their footsteps followed by the clank and clomp of the accompanying Custodes at the end of their group echoed around them.

Finally, they reached their assigned hangar bay with the shared shuttle for most of the crew on this section of the ship.

There was a crackle, and the Emperor appeared before them again out of a Warp portal next to the shuttles that would take them off the Bucephelus and to the battleships that remained at either side since the battle with the Xenos. His face was emotionless, but his eyes inspected each and every one of the crew boarding the shuttles as they passed him. Custodes followed many of the groups boarding the shuttles, entering with them and leaving the Emperor behind.

As Lysander locked himself into his seat with the restraining bars and harness of the shuttle, he sighed in both relief and exasperation.

Nothing ever went as planned, and he had left his best bottle of Amasec behind underneath his chair on the bridge.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor watched the crew of the Bucephelus pass by. All of them were flickered between two states through the double vision of foresight.

Human faces and skin were occasionally replaced by ash, blood, and charcoaled flesh. Blackened human pâté after blackened human pâté passed by him, like conveyor belts carrying burnt hamburgers that had been stepped.

Even the Custodes were not spared. Their Golden armor was flattened and partially melted. Their spears were bent with blades shattered, and whatever remained of their reinforced flesh and bones had been incinerated and carbonified.

However, it was the Bucephelus itself that concerned the Emperor the most. The corridors were filled with volcanic rock, and the entire ship itself was twisted like a wet rag that had been rung out.

'Isha.' The Emperor thought, and looked down into the depths of the ship where the Aeldari Goddess stared back at him.

Somehow, Isha would be responsible for everything he saw before him.

There was no time point for the events in the Emperor's foresight, but instinct whispered that this was not an immediate event.

Isha had not moved during the disembarkation of the Bucephelus, merely returning the Emperor's gaze patiently, as if to say it was the Emperor's turn to make its move.

The Emperor cast its foresight out into the far future, attempting to see whether the island it saw was gone.

The island remained in sight, but it too was flickered between itself and another vision of the future.

Static crackled, replacing the island with a blurry image of granite black and burning orange walls closing in around the Emperor that gradually melted away into an elliptical bubble made of black and red crystal.

The Emperor was at a crossroad. Two futures lay in its path. One where all progressed as planned. The other was something it had never seen before, but meant certain doom.

"I should have known your species' pride wouldn't keep your head cowed for long." The Emperor muttered.

Narrowed eyes were the only response Isha gave.

The Emperor cast one last look throughout the ship, confirming every crewmember and Custodes had left, then opened a Warp portal to the dark room Isha waited in.

This battle found all those who followed the Emperor wanting, so just as the final battle between the Void Dragon and the Protector of Humanity had been fought between just the two of them, this fight between Isha and the Emperor would be theirs and theirs alone.

—----------------------------------------

There was a crackle, and a purple vortex swirled into existence growing larger and larger like the whirlpool that forms when opposing currents in the ocean meet. The Emperor stepped from the Warp, purple mist and clouds sticking to the golden armor like tufts of cotton candy before sizzling into nothingness as they dissipated into the materium.

"Is this your attempt at negotiating with me?" The Emperor asked sarcastically. The golden glow from its armor was the only other source of light besides the green glow that was centered around Isha in the dark room.

"In a sense, I suppose this is." The Aeldari goddess replied tartly. "Violence is the only language creatures such as you seem to understand."

"Then you have moved too late." The Emperor snorted. "You stood a better chance with your Psychomatons."

"I did not wish to slaughter your followers." Isha shrugged. "You are their protector. Any action against them means you must react. That is your purpose; especially if that action is taken by something from the immaterium."

"So, all of this is just a threat?" The Emperor questioned with one eyebrow raised.

"Are you so blind to how the future works, Mon-keigh?" Isha sighed while giving the Emperor a condescending look. "I fully intend to kill every human here and tear this ship from the sky. It is because I have the intention and the ability to do so that you see the double vision of foresight overlaid on top of each other. That was the only way you would ever force them to flee from this place. No mortal, no matter how enhanced, will survive what is to happen here."

"Then…" The Emperor's sword materialized in its right hand with a burst of flames. "I have no choice but to destroy you."

Isha merely shook her head, as if exasperated.

"You will have no choice in the future, but at this moment in the present you still do."

The slaughter of the humans had not yet happened even though it was foreseen. Therefore, the Emperor would have to act to prevent that slaughter. However, as they had not been murdered yet, Isha was still blameless for their deaths.

There was still room for discourse between the two deities.

But, the Emperor would still have to act against Isha, for it was the Protector of Humanity.

"Then, it makes no difference then." The Emperor said as it took a heavy step towards Isha. "This is a threat." Brown eyes met with silver ones as the two stared at each other. "What do you want?"

The death and destruction wrought by Isha would be costly. If there was a way to prevent it, the Emperor was willing to consider a degree of leniency. Although, any offer given would be made mostly to buy time to find an easier and better place to destroy Isha.

"I already have what I want." Isha replied, a slow smile growing on her face. "You, all alone here with me." The room shook as both of them released their psychic essences, filling the room to the brim with the invisible weight of their presence. "There is only one name for the path I proceed down. It is you who sees the crossroad that must choose which direction to go in order to end up in the same place."

The Emperor raised its taloned hand, palm pointed towards Isha in an open fist.

"Then I shall reach that place over your broken body and stolen mind."

Golden walls crackled into existence several meters from Isha before closing in on her to surround her as they did on the dead Necron pylon world.

Green winds suddenly rushed outwards from the goddess, snaking around each individual wall and shattering them from the side facing outwards, while brown gusts of hurricane force slammed into the Emperor. The air howled as it rushed past, dragging the Emperor backwards and forcing it to its knees. The talons on the Emperor's left hand sparked as they caught the floor, scarring the metal as the force of the winds was slowly overcome by the friction of the Emperor's armored boots and golden talons against the metal floor.

"Did you think I did nothing but mope while I was your captive?" Isha laughed. "These golden wards of yours are made to project your power inwards in a cage suffused with only your essence. But, just like the walls of a badly built house, they are easy to knock down when they stand alone."

The Emperor glared up at Isha. Such a display of power should have been costly. Any attempt to overcome the Emperor with only psychic power would be annulled and it would cost more power to destroy the wards than it took to create them. However, the confident posture of Isha betrayed no worry. This inefficient usage of power did not disturb her in the slightest.

"You devoured their souls." The Emperor growled as it rose against the howling air. "That is the only explanation for this power." A golden finger rose to point at Isha accusingly as the Emperor stood up from the ground; long locks of raven hair flowing behind it with the wind, writhing like snakes. "Mother of the Aeldari. Goddess of Life. Your titles are nothing but sophistry and propaganda. In the end, you gods are no better than the Ruinous Powers of Chaos."

Isha only snorted at that.

"Do you think me so easy to anger with a statement of the obvious?" All emotion fell away from Isha's face, leaving only the blank eyed stare of something utterly inhuman looking at the Emperor. "I am a deity from the War in Heaven. It was we who kept the Sea of Souls clean of the corruption that now suffuses the Warp. We fed upon all the emotions including the pain and suffering felt by the races that worshiped us. It was by keeping all the horror they experienced in our bellies, converting their worst nightmares into our miracles and gifts, that there was nothing else for the Warp Predators to feast upon."

A wince returned emotion to Isha's face as some painful memory forced a hand up to her forehead. "Although, in the end, even we could not keep the Warp Plagues from ruining everything."

"Then you truly are no better than Slaanesh."

The Emperor gathered its strength within it, preparing its next move. There were no more Aeldari here. Whatever power Isha had was temporary; like an enormous battery that had been charged. The Emperor was still connected to humanity, constantly empowered by them. Victory would be the Emperor's eventually.

Even if the amount of power they had was equal, the Emperor's own nature rejected and reverted the unnatural and unclean. Thus, every interaction between Isha and the Emperor would take more from Isha than the Emperor. Eventually, Isha would run out of power, and then vengeance could be mete out at the Emperor's leisure.

Still, even though victory could be achieved by weathering this temporary storm, whatever fallout from their battle would damage the ship they were in. A quicker victory would always be better, and conquering a greater foe would foment a grander legend.

"You still do not understand what that means." Isha smiled to herself sadly. "I took the thoughts, dreams, and souls of my children as they died; slain by your people's hands or recovered by my own. All the thousands of years of fattening pleasure, and the torment of losing it all at the hands of She who Thirsts now lies within my breast." The goddess's hand rose to the goddess's chest, gripping at the simple white shift, wrinkling the thin Wraithbone cloth that covered Isha as the Aeldari's deity's lips curled back in anger. "It is only thanks to the emotion they carved my core out of, the body woven together by my mother, and the boiling blood my father poured into my veins that I can convert all the worst parts of their lives into a future good."

The Aeldari goddess's eyes were vacant, looking at something or someone that no longer existed. The pitch of the green and brown winds' howl raging throughout the room rose as the speed they ran around the room increased, denting air vents and forcing screws and bolts out of pipes as they forced themselves through every available opening in the room; as if they were seeking to escape as far away from Isha as they could.

"The strongest emotions born from the deepest despair and hottest hatred draw out the greatest power from the immaterium." Isha's voice was heavy with a smoldering resentful anger. "The Four are based off of that principle, and so were we."

A sardonic smile crossed Isha's lips, sheathing the white teeth bared in anger, as some semblance of control returned to the Aeldari goddess's face.

"Besides, do not speak to me as if you are any different. You throw all those who reach out to you into the flames for your own purpose."

The hand clutching at Isha's chest relaxed and fell away.

"In the end, we are both just a more complex form of Warp Predator. That was the name of the creatures the Old Ones specialized in breeding, after all."

Golden sparks crackled from the Emperor's eyes as its own lips drew back with its own anger.

"I am the Protector of Humanity." The Emperor spat. "Their sacrifices are the toll paid to ensure the survival of all mankind."

Isha laughed at this, a manic carefree laughter of exhaustion and disbelief. The irony of what the Master of Mankind said was too much to bear.

"Tell yourself what you want." Isha replied, head still shaking at the hypocrisy of it all. "The same theories that made me were applied when making you, even though you were far more blessed than I ever was." The smile disappeared from Isha's face as the last words left those pink lips, and a deep seated hatred glowed in those silvery eyes; dark green jealousy and black brown rage mixing within the abyssal black of the goddess's pupils.

"Enough of your accursed words, Aeldari witch." The Emperor said taking a step forward against the winds. "I may have wanted your knowledge, but I should have known that suffering your presence was never worth the price." Golden chains clinked as they emerged from around the Emperor; howling winds passing right through them, annulled and incinerated as they passed over and through the burning links of metal. "It may take me far longer, but burying you on Luna should bear fruit in a few decades."

The chains struck, rushing towards Isha through the wind at blinding speed, only to be suddenly entangled in dark green vines that grew from the ground and air around the Aeldari goddess. The two bindings clashed, with the chains slowly but surely pushing back the vines, burning and strangling them. However, the speed at which they moved was now at a snail's pace.

"I have seen your tricks, Mon-keigh." Isha snorted. "You would do best to never use the same ones again."

Time stopped for a brief moment as the Emperor realized something. Isha's form remained Aeldari, and no hint of animal claws or fangs appeared on her.

Those features only appeared when Isha was surprised or suppressing something; when some internal discord affected what shape the Aeldari goddess should take.

Isha was not conflicted, confused, or out of control at this moment. Every action was being conducted with precision and care. Every part of the Aeldari goddess was now in complete sync, and fully directed against the Emperor.

The most potent weapon in the eyes of the Mother of the Aeldari were not the beasts of the wild, but the Aeldari themselves and it was their form Isha now took.

The Emperor only had time to open its mouth before Isha vanished, turning into a gold and white streak that was rushing towards it. A misty cone of vapor trailed behind the goddess as the sound barrier was broken with the lunge.

Reflexively, the Emperor tried to step back, but only managed to lift its head backwards before Isha's fist narrowly missed the forehead and struck downwards into the center of its chest.

The blow sent the Master of Mankind through the reinforced metal of the floor with the screech of torn metal, only for that sound to be interrupted as the Emperor crashed through the ceiling of the deck below it, penetrating that one as well.

Floor, ceiling, floor, ceiling. The Emperor passed through 4 pairs before opening a Warp portal behind it that opened at Isha's back. The force Isha struck the Emperor with propelled the Master of Mankind like a bullet, sending the Emperor through the portal and towards the Aeldari goddess. But, even as the Emperor turned around to strike what it thought would be Isha's exposed back, the Aeldari goddess was already turned towards the portal, waiting for the Emperor to exit.

The Emperor could teleport instantly to almost any location it wished, but even the Emperor could not pass through a door that had not been opened. Thus, the door would always appear before the Emperor. Ergo, Isha would always strike first, for the Aeldari goddess would always stand in front of the door before the Emperor could pass through it.

But, that made no difference. The Emperor's sword was held with both hands, and the runes of forced slumber and thought-stealing were already upon the burning blade.

Golden steel met white skin, and cut through it like butter only to be smothered by an explosion of gray green bark and branches that tore themselves out of Isha's arm instead of red muscle and ivory bone.

The wooden bindings smoldered and steamed as they wrapped around both the blade of the Emperor's sword and both of its hands; holding the Master of Mankind in place.

The runes upon the blade crackled, and multicolored flames burned beneath Isha's bindings, making them glow like overheated wood or charcoal in a fire. Yet, the spell did not progress any further.

Static crackled before the Emperor's eyes, and new understanding spread through its mind.

Plants, when infected by a parasite or pathogen, had several defenses they deployed with their immune system. Their first reaction was to pump garbage into the affected region; to kill off the infected cells or entire leaves, to destroy the part in order to protect the whole. Isha used that biological reaction as symbolism for her own defense against the invasion against her mind the Emperor's spell brought; encapsulating it in junk memories and thoughts that she would kill off as the spell spread through them.

As long as the Goddess of Life continued killing the infected parts invaded by the Emperor's spell, its spell would never progress any further.

The Emperor struck with a psychic blow, firing a stream of golden flames emitted from before its face, only to be rebuffed as green brown winds slammed into them with even greater force; the Emperor's immaterium annulling aura balanced out by the greater violence Isha struck with.

Forked lighting lashed out from the equidistant point between them where their two energies met; clawing molten gouges into the floor, walls, and ceiling.

The Emperor would eventually win this battle between psychic blows. Even now, Isha had to spend more power just to hold the growing ball of blazing energy between them. However, it was the Emperor who would lose if time progressed any further.

Both of the Emperor's hands were bound, but Isha's other arm was free and it was cocked backwards like the hammer of a gun; the muscles in her arm and waist both pulled back and taught like an archer pulling back a bow string. In less than 0.01 seconds Isha would strike the Emperor with the force of several hundred cannons. Taking that blow at this close range, and with both its arms bound would be physically fatal. Even if the Emperor could regrow and repair its body, Isha would attack again before the damage could be repaired. From then on, Isha would repeatedly destroy the Master of Mankind's partially reconstructed form, and the Emperor would endlessly be on the backfoot.

The Emperor needed to take back the initiative this instant, and the decision needed to be made in less than 0.008 seconds.

Isha's eyes widened as the Emperor cut off its psychic attack, adding an extra millisecond to the timer, bringing the golden pauldron on the left shoulder forwards. The converging energies between them was slingshotted towards the Emperor and struck the golden pauldron, sending screaming sparks flying everywhere, pockmarking and cratering the wall behind the Emperor with a shotgun blast of psychic energies as the stream of green and brown gouged into the golden auramite of the Emperor's armor, shattering into splinters of force as the nullifying aura of the Emperor eventually destabilized them enough to break apart.

But, the Emperor's gamble worked. The force of the strike on its left shoulder had torn its left hand from the bindings, and as soon as the taloned hand was free, the Emperor swung its psychic might like a hammer into the side of Isha's green brown winds, deflecting both diagonally away from them, cutting through every hull and bulkhead of the Bucephelus as it crossed the wall, shooting into space like a laser beam.

Free of both Isha's psychic attack and part of her dead tree bindings, the Emperor's taloned hand closed around her upper torso as she swung forwards; freezing the motion of her waist, leaving only the muscles in her arm to swing forwards. Even then, the sonic boom of her strike sent a shock wave past the Emperor's cheek; cutting up the side of its face, shattering both the jaw joint and eardrum.

However, Isha's fist did no more damage than that, as the taloned hand held her back, out of arm's length. A Warp portal opened before them, and the Emperor threw the both of them outside of the ship, into the void between the Bucephelus and the planet below.

The Emperor's talons squeezed around Isha, sparking as the auramite screeched against the goddess's impossibly hard skin. Only the sword could penetrate that, and the blade was still bound in the bark bindings of Isha's arm.

However, the Emperor could feel the goddess weakening.

It was the Goddess of Life and the void of space was an inhospitable place to it. On the ship, there were still plants, air, dust filled ducts, and dirty rooms. All were filled with life of some sort; whether it be decorative flora, microscopic fauna like dust mites, and bacteria or fungi. The environment of the Bucephelus was a microcosm teeming with invisible life, and thus Isha could exist there comfortably.

Out here, in the lifeless void filled with no air, where the only winds were the solar winds released from radioactive plumes by the nearby stars that brought painful death for most life through genetic damage and radiation sickness, Isha would weaken.

Soon, the bark bindings would die, and the Emperor's sword would plunge into Isha's heart, sending her to sleep for all eternity; creating another alien Atlas that would shoulder all the worlds of humanity.

The Emperor expected despair, worry, or even pain to be expressed in the silvery eyes of Isha, but all it saw was the reflection of grim determination the Emperor itself acted with.

Isha's free hand grabbed the taloned gauntlet, and psychic energies sparked as the nails began to drill down past the Emperor's aura.

Something touched the Emperor's mind. Something unfathomably more massive than it, and infinitely alien.

Pain filled every nerve fiber of the Emperor, and its teeth gritted holding in a tortured howl.

Thoughts, sights, sounds, smells, and sensations seeped into all that composed the Emperor; adding weight to the golden path that threatened to cause its bricks to crack and crumble.

The Emperor attempted to throw Isha away, but it was the Emperor who was now bound to Isha. Its taloned hand was gripped with one hand, while the sword was bound in the bark still protruding from the other.

It… He… She… could feel that whatever Isha was doing was interfering with the multiple personas that composed the Emperor, forcing a different face up to the surface as alien memories were dumped into the Emperor's mind.

Man, Woman, Old, Young, Black, Brown, Yellow, White. Every race, gender, and age of human shifted from one to the next as the Emperor struggled against Isha.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Emperor could see Isha was not unscarred by this either. Flames consumed the hand embedded in the gauntlet, burning away at her as the Emperor's essence rejected and reverted Isha back to the nothingness of the immaterium. A pained grimace furrowed her brow, and sweat flew off her skin into the void in pearly droplets as they tumbled ever closer to the planet.

Suddenly, Isha's grip weakened, and her arm that was bound to the blade via the flora that had come out from it came loose from the tree bindings, as if shedding the wood like a glove. Flames were consuming that hand as well, but the Empress didn't bother considering why or how that happened. Instead, she took her swords, still encased in Isha's bindings, and smashed the blade covered in burnt bark against Isha's head with all her might.

The titanic blow sent the goddess shooting away from the Empress, and shattered the charred remains of her bindings into charcoal splinters.

The Emperor reverted to his preferred male form, persona included, for whatever Isha had implanted inside of him still raged inside his core; burdening the already crowded path his true form paved with extra thoughts and memories.

The neutral mindset equidistant from everything could not be brought back, but it was a trivial matter. There was no need to be neutral to break a god. He hadn't defeated the Void Dragon as the Emperor, after all.

Isha was falling towards the planet, both arms still burning, but she was not dead. She could not be allowed to die after inconveniencing him this much.

Cursed knowledge from Molech came back with the horrid memories of that place, and new golden wards formed with the numbers of Chaos. 3 sided equilateral triangles formed far away from Isha, keeping them out of her reach while they were reinforced and strengthened. 8 of these were summoned with Isha at the center. They would close together as a shining trapezohedron formed from 3 sided triangles that would make a shape with 8 sides and 6 vertices; a double pyramid made with golden light and red flames that would fill with all the horrors of decay, war, and decadence humanity had experienced.

He watched her glare up at him, before shooting towards one of the gaps between the swiftly closing wards. They moved too slow to catch her, but he was expecting that. There were only a few places she could run to escape the wards. They would herd her right where he wanted her.

With all the psychic he could muster, the Master of Mankind launched himself towards Isha, far faster than any bullet or bolter round. Golden after images streaked behind him like the tail of a comet.

The burning blade of his sword roared as the flames that came from it grew brighter and brighter as he closed the distance between them.

Isha turned to face him, and he could now see the shifting beneath her skin as she prepared to intercept him again with the wooden self-sacrificing bindings, but it was his turn to see through her tricks.

If this were the immaterium, the same symbolism of self-sacrifice could have been used, for that realm was truly composed of thoughts and dreams. However, in the materium, no matter how effective the symbol was at its purpose, there was a physical limit to the material it was expressed with.

The Aeldari goddess grimaced, and the shifting beneath her skin withdrew.

The Emperor sneered at her.

The wood that exploded from her body would not stop him now. He traveled too quickly and with too much mass. The moment she tried to intercept him with that same trick, he would smash right through whatever branch or root she could produce and impale her in the same motion.

As the Emperor's blade streaked towards Isha, her burning hands slammed down on the flats of the blade, spewing glowing green and brown smoke from her hands as the flames ate through the flesh and bone of her fingers. But, she was still able to catch the blade centimeters before it punched through her breast. Psychic energies sparked and cracked as she attempted to push back the spread of the Emperor's spell with raw psychic power.

The two of them streaked through the ash clouds of the planet below them, appearing as a green brown shooting star with a golden tail.

Storm winds howled around them as they penetrated the upper atmosphere, gray ash turning orange at their passing from the heat of the friction they generated that burned the very air around them.

The Emperor's blade slowly started to slip from Isha's grasp, drawing closer and closer to her heart.

Then, the flames surrounding Isha's arms suddenly gutted out. The charred flesh and bones regrew themselves, restoring the white pearly skin of her arms and the soft smooth fingers of her hands. When her nails reformed, the Emperor felt something repel him, just like magnets of the same polarity push each other apart.

There was a thin glow of gold at the very tip of each of her nails, and it was these that now grasped the blade of his sword.

Such a weak grasp should not have been able to push back against his blow, but the blade refused to budge an inch while it was held between her 10 nails.

The Emperor looked up at Isha's face and his blood ran cold.

A wide eyed bare toothed grin stared back at him, like the smile of a wolf before an orphaned shivering lamb.

Ancient instincts honed by fighting the Bull of Heaven and countless other monstrosities screamed inside the Emperor's mind, and he swung his sword sending Isha flying off to the side.

Then, all sound disappeared as he suddenly accelerated towards the ground.

The air resistance that was the only thing that slowed his fall had gone, along with the atmosphere around him. Isha had pulled all of it away, and now he was falling faster than ever with nothing to stop him but the hard ground that was rushing up to him.

He reached out with his psychic touch to annul her grasp on the air around them, but quickly pulled back and instead surrounded himself in the strongest psychic barrier he could muster.

He was now in the center of a giant vacuum, equivalent to being at the epicenter of a gigantic primed Krak grenade. If he undid Isha's control, the vacuum would close upon him in a devastating shockwave that would pass right through his armor and liquify his insides.

But, Isha wouldn't wait for the Emperor to set off the bomb he was now inside. She would surely strike first.

Not a moment after he had that thought, a hammer of air slammed into his barrier from above. Isha had opened the top of the vacuum chamber she had created, and all the air that had been removed was now screaming down at him, shoving him towards the ground faster and faster.

The Emperor reinforced the barrier, his body, and his armor as he hurtled to the ground and struck it with meteoric force; sending dust clouds several hundred meters into the air with an explosion that cracked and cratered the volcanic rock most of the planet's crust was made of.

The remaining air displaced by Isha rushed in to swiftly disperse the ash and dust of the impact, leaving only the Emperor in the crater his landing had created.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and began to walk out of the concave hole he had made, only to stumble and land on one knee.

His eyes sparked as his physical form started to shift once again from male to female, old to young, race to race.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Isha said gently as she landed in a gust of wind, sitting down leisurely on the ledge of the crater above the Emperor.

"Powerful as that ability may be, using it has several risks that you should be well aware of." Isha rested her cheek on one hand as she looked down upon the ever shifting Emperor. "Should you stop your feet now, there is no assurance you will start from where you were, or even start again at all."

The Emperor glared at her with a feminine face before switching to one of an old arab.

"I always wondered what sort of god you were." She chuckled. "In hindsight, there were many clues. The impression you left on all your followers. Your self-righteous nature. The rejection of all that you see as unholy. I even understand why you found my song so painful to listen to."

The Goddess of Life hummed a small section of her song, and giggled girlishly as the Emperor grit his teeth and shifted into several other people rapidly as the discord within it increased.

"Your path is but one possibility among the many ways life can wander." Isha spoke quietly, her voice melodious and echoing as all Aeldari voices do. "You walk blindly upon it, always wondering whether things could be different, but never able to see what could have been."

The Empress glared at Isha, white teeth bared as her soft feminine features twisted with rage, glowering at the goddess with eyes wet with unspilled tears.

"It must be painful to hear all of what could have been in my song. To see and feel the peace that could have been yours if you simply chose to live a different life."

Isha sighed, and sat up right; looking down at the feminine Master of Mankind with cold regal eyes.

"But, you had no choice but to walk the painful path you did. No one else would, and no one else could. Even when you finally left the mortal realm and became a being of the Sea of Souls, you could not stop yourself from trying to save them. But, being a god means to define both what is and what isn't your Truth."

A slow smile crossed Isha's face.

"I see why they call you the Anathema..."

Neoth

First King of Uruk

Saint

Specimen D-001

The names and titles she called him were said all at the same time, overlaid upon each other yet simultaneously individually identifiable, truly revealing to the Emperor what exactly she had done to him and taken from him.

"You once pronounced to know the end of my path, God of Heroes." Isha said quietly. "Allow me to prophesize the end of your legend in return."

[moociaoafterdark]

... Aside from the "anti incest = anti LGBTQ", shipping isn't always about something healthy and romantic. Shipping is about exploring relationship dynamics. It's like enjoying a horror movie... or liking the grimdarkness of Warhammer. Yeah, it's fucked up! That's the point! That's why I'm here!

There's a reason shipping is often tied with drawing/writing porn. Just because you like watching humans take xeno girls as sex slaves or idk a Sororitas being raped by Chaos Cultist/Chaos Daemon/Xeno/Tyranid/etc, it doesn't mean that you actually enjoy/support things like slavery, rape, zoophilia, misogyny, etc. Fantasies don't define us and they can be dark. There are multiple studies about this done by many scientists and psychologists and if you want, I will gladly sent them.

As for Konrad/Vulkan specifically... Well, I don't ship them myself (I prefer Roboute/Vulkan), but if I have to speculate: it's the horror of watching an incredibly broken beyond repair person torment the only one that was willing to listen and help, to a certain point at least. Konrad is a person that was denied everything and, on top of raising himself in the city crawling with the most despicable criminals ever, he was tortured by visions of a horrible future that he is not certain if he can prevent. He was one of the few characters that was aware what world/franchise he was born into. This revelation drove him to insanity. One that was only worsened by good ol' Big E, who exploited Konrad's insanity, instead of trying to fix it. Everyone were disgusted by Konrad, all of his brothers, except Fulgrim and Vulkan, but they were as much of pups as Konrad himself was. They could never hope to fix him, it would take far more than that, far more patience and understanding, something they couldn't afford while the Crusade raged on. Vulkan on the other hand had a happy childhood. He was raised by a loving father, he had a community that loved him and saw him as their hero, their savior. He is an excellent smith, a creator, instead of a simple destroyer and a monster like Konrad, he is not afraid to show kindness because he was never punished for it, it was never against Vulkan's survival to be kind. On top of that, he also has a better relationship with Big E AND his brothers. He is an anathema to Konrad. THIS is how their dynamic becomes interesting. It's the horror of Konrad breaking Vulkan over and over again. Could there be a silver of chance where he succeeds? How would a broken Vulkan look like? Assuming the Heresy failed spectacularly (no Chaos God powered Horus, no Big E being forced to sit on the Throne, Magnus ACTUALLY not doing anything wrong and the Webway portal is intact), how would their relationship go from there, assuming Konrad is kept alive? What if Vulkan was a little more patient (or perhaps more of a pushover) and gave Konrad more chances? Would Konrad continue to exploit Vulkan's kindness until the man breaks? Or would Konrad give up and hesitantly reach out for his brother. Reach out for a man that wasn't disgusted by being Konrad's brother?

TLDR: It's all about playing with your Barbie dolls, man!

Okay, I was half asleep when talking about Primarch shipping.

But I can't say I am against it... Mainly because someone will get on a soap box and claim me being anti incest is anti LGBTQ, also @tagedeszorns who has read way more of the heresy than me pointed out that brotherhood loosely defined them, Fulgrim even saying they are not brothers in the true sense.

But there are some ships that make me go WTF, like Konrad/Vulkan.... Just... How? Konrad spent the entire heresy treating Vulkan like shit, how is that healthy?

I guess I will treat it like the Fat Marines posting, part of the fandom that exists, but I sure as fuck don't understand.