the-consortium

[the-consortium]

The Chief Apothecary allows himself something that would have been a contented smile on the face of an unaltered human, but is more of a rictus grin on a ten-thousand-year-old perfect monster.

He takes the time to turn around on the lab stool and briefly take in the scenery of the main atrium with its public workstations. The hum of centrifuges, the metallic clatter of tools falling back into trays. And of course the screams. Plus the smell of blood and Sterilium. Science, medicine. The future.

He interlaces his slender fingers, looks pensively at the brittle glass ceiling with its snaking bundles of cables.

"The galaxy probably wouldn't be a better place if everyone had these enhanced abilities. Because it seems obvious to me that there's no shortage of people who cram more books into their brains than you'd think and still manage to expand their horizons to a maximum of a line. Just think of Saqqara's brothers, who have made the cultic worship of writing their life's work. Which does neither them nor their environment any good.

That's why I won't sit on this technique, but I will in any case check very carefully who can be gifted with it without the likelihood of him or her getting on my nerves too much later on."

Fabius, you little freak (affectionate)

That said... @the-consortium how much for that? I, too, want to shovel knowledge into me literally.

[the-consortium]

Fabius' motto since M31.

You can actually only call it hubris if the gods/consequences ever catch you. Otherwise it's just sparkling genius.

[the-consortium]

Well, there were other reasons and a lot of "oh no, it's the consequences of my very own actions!", but that's just the way of the Galaxy's most brilliant mind with the universe's biggest ego.

koh: ok we need to visit this planet, let’s dock and—

bile: nah i don’t feel like paying the toll

bile: let’s take this alternate, secret route

koh:

koh: that’s how daemons get in

bile: uh huh

koh: you want us to use the daemon road. which is full of daemons

bile: uh huh

saqqara: if we go that way, we will walk a path of madness, minds will splinter and souls will fray

bile: wow you’re such a poet *sarcastic applause*

bile: also did i mention that we gotta turn off the gellar field to do this

koh: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND—

arrian: hey it’s a new experience! don’t you slaaneshi types love new experiences? >:)

koh: I HAVE EXPERIENCED THIS BEFORE AND IT SUCKED

saqqara: how do you not understand the magnitude of this. traveling this road will blast us with unfiltered, high-octane Lovecraftian Elder God mindfuck. this is blasphemy and it is—

bile: shut up saqqara we’re taking the daemon road. mama bile didn’t raise no tax-paying punk

[the-consortium]

Saqqara is calling Arrian this and giving him a golden tattoo.

[the-consortium]

Work in Progress: Pridemonth-Fabius

I don't know when I'll get around finishing this, because I'm a bit "do not want" towards drawing at the moment. But this can change at the drop of a hat.

Fabius and I are so much alike: Old, bitter, aro-ace and surrounded by way too much allosexual stuff. But we 100% support all you happy freaks (affectionate), as long as we are allowed to do our stuff in peace.

[the-consortium]

Marine Meat Monday - Saqqara

[the-consortium]

Esteemed Dr Bile,

First of all, I hope that you are having a somewhat agreeable day.

Second, I know that you had to make many (and probably necessary) sacrifices in order to continue your outstanding work as a scientist. However, I was wondering whether any of these has left a deep emotional impact on you. E.g. did you feel guilty swapping your own samples, back then in M30, when you were researching the blight, with that of your battle brother? Did you know him well and mourn his death?

Did you ever falter in your conviction as a scientist and maybe contemplate whether what you were doing is wrong / futile?

I'm not passing judgement of any sort, please don't get me wrong. I am just interested in, how should I say, understanding your inner world, your emotions, the "ego" that lies beneath the cold mask of efficiency.

Thank you for your consideration, Dr Bile.

Sincerely yours,

Etc.

P.S. could you please forward my greetings to your fellow consortium members, and give a nice head pat to Pazuuz? He's a good boy.

You can also give others a head pat, I guess, and tell them they are good boys. Might heighten the morale.

‘Everyone's a critic!’

Arrian looks up and, with purposely calm movements, puts his scalpel aside and absently wipes the metal surface of the table. He then looks to his employer, who holds out his datapad with an obviously unflattering letter on it, as if it were a rudely deceased experiment.

The War Hound keeps a deliberately neutral expression on his face. For him, always a sign of control. A victory over genetics. ‘Well, you're constantly being accosted by everyone, Chief Apothecary.’

Fabius waves it off, gives a contemptuous snort. ‘Of course! Visionaries have more enemies than anyone else. But my past really isn't part of my job.’ He hesitates briefly and adds pointedly: ‘At least not that part of my past. If I flinched every time the dead looked at me reproachfully, I'd never get anywhere.’

His pupil nods dutifully, his fingers stroking one of his brothers' skulls. Not really expecting an explanation from his eccentric employer.

Then he looks after Fabius, who disappears into his laboratory muttering something unintelligible. Shortly afterwards, classical music drifts through the door in single strands.

Briraeus' creaking voice squeezes between the notes: ’He doesn't carry his dog brothers around with him, does he? That's very rude. Right?’

Arrian doesn't answer.

In Fabius' laboratory, the usual shadows peel out of the corners. A presence, larger than it should be, rises up between two bookshelves. Just standing there, waiting. As it has been for ten thousand years. Not physically for a long time now - but what does that really mean? A machine made of flesh that can only serve as a temporary vessel.

Perhaps it would be possible to build a new vessel. And to fill it. But that would mean going into debt. To the monsters. Or at least to Saqqara. And that's still too much. And what's the point? What would be different this time? Decisions are made, consequences happen. Not everything is reversible.

The irony is not lost on the Chief Apothecary.

He laughs softly, the sound almost lost in the music. ‘An opinion on that, Lycaeon?’

But of course there is no answer. Only Arrian's brothers are really talkative.

[the-consortium]

There are some limits to this axiom, though ...

On the other hand - the Consortium begging Fabius to drive them to see the biggest ball of demons in the Maelstrom ... that could happen!

And then Paz'uz slobbers all over the demon-ball and Oleander runs off with it, because he saw an especially cute Daemonette in there.

everything looks like a nail when you've got a hammer and every song is actually about the character when they're on your mind 24/7

[the-consortium]

'Asexuals write the best smut' Not me I'm here to write critical analysis like the hater I am

[the-consortium]

Fuck. It's Paz'uz!

[the-consortium]

To Saqquara:

Have you seen Urizen and any strange behaviors? Also, how goes the religious journey?

Swirling threads of gold. A brief flash that could as well have originated from the cloudy, sandstorm-ravaged windows. Then he's there. Has always been there. Looks around curiously. Erects the feathered crest on his head. Around him, the dense, deadly green of an arboretum. A hairy green tendril stretches out in his direction, but then hesitates and curls back into a perfect spiral. The air is dull and fertile in the vast space.

Where is the one that belongs to him? He is nearby. He can feel his thoughts because they are so familiar. For a moment there are the monstrous whorls of thought of the Lord of Change. Then they drift away.

Yes, there he is.

Gold and red, red and gold. The tiny creature with the infinite size of the warp in its body pushes off from the woody vine and glides to the clearing where the sought-after soulfire kneels and speaks the Word with mind and tongue. The Word he can warm himself with. The Word of the greater part. Aah, yes. The gods, the golden champion of the gods, whose seed lives in the flesh of this soulfire.

The small being that is a part of destruction and chaos lands with the softness of a falling leaf on the shoulder of the kneeling Astartes. Warms itself against him. Settles down and puffs itself up.

The words, which are the word, warm and burn.

Satisfaction.

------------

Saqqara feels the presence. Feels familiarity and the part that has always awed him. He closes his eyes and traces the words he has drunk with his eyes as golden tattoos on the perfect being that is his father.

He smiles.

[the-consortium]

Hugs simply gave him a shrug. "Probably nothing if I had to guess." She plucked another sprig of mint and ate that one two. "By the way if you want some of the crops to take back for cooking you're more than welcome to them. They've really taken off this year." She motioned to the abundance of lush greenery around them, it was dotted here and there with the colorful form of fruits and vegetables.

Hugs knew that the chaos gods couldn't see into this place so she wasn't worried. But she would have to be careful when visiting them.

The rain didn't ease up and Hugs was soaked through, she didn't mind, she could handle a bit of water.

In an absent movement, Saqqara raises his arm to shield Hugs from the gently falling rain. The fabric of his robe has become partially soaked and slaps against his body.

The strange peace penetrates deep into the diabloist. As if probing a sore tooth with his tongue, he explores this feeling with cautious curiosity. Astartes are not peaceful by their very nature. And even without the influence of the blood god as a constant companion, harmony is not a state they are all too familiar with.

Saqqara moves involuntarily, stepping from one foot to the other as his physiology resists the natural stillness of his surroundings. The idea of food that is not merely useful is alien, shaking a ten-thousand-year-old memory that had long since crumbled to dust. A glimpse of a planet that only allowed life in a few river valleys. A child holding a bowl filled with boiled roots. Saqqara frowns as the smell of a dish that can never be cooked again creeps quietly into his nose. Not that this garden would harbour that very plant.

Or would it?

A glance at Arrian. The World Eater knows more about plants, but is deep in the absurd peace of the rain.

Saqqara looks down at Hugs, sees her in the colourful robes of Colchis.

[the-consortium]

Love in the Thoracic Cavity

by https://lena-oleanderson.tumblr.com/

If there ever was poetry for Fabius ... Especially for his complicated relationship with Fulgrim.

@legiopraesagio found it.

[the-consortium]

In the light of the new Emperor's Children-Codex and the information that Lucius has to hunt for his armour and weapons each time he reincarnates, this dialog with @ladymirdan happened.

[the-consortium]

Or even better! When you can one-up their headcanon!

The Chirurgeon being semi-sentient isn't funny enough! The Chirurgeon leading its on secret life and building more little Chirurgeons it's where it's at!

The best thing about 40k is when a person says “wouldnt it be funny if [insert random weird ass idea] was canon.”

And then for me to go “It actually is.” and handing them a Lexicanum link. And just watch their head explode.

[the-consortium]

Chief Apothecary Bile,

What are your thoughts on the Perpetual phenomenon? Have you or the Consortium at large captured any of these individuals and / or experimented on them in an attempt to replicate the effect?

The door to the laboratory closes with a very final-sounding grating sound right in front of Oleander's nose as he is about to follow the Clonelord in. With an indignant growl, he stops and looks at the closed passageway as if anger alone could open it again.

With a wave, Fabius orders a Servo Skull carrying a Lumen Globe towards him. With his usual quick stride, he makes his way to his desk and drops into the chair, his eyes still fixed on the message on the datapad.

The Servo Skull obediently adjusts the light to the optimum setting, while the Chief Apothecary begins to compose a reply in concentration.

This anomaly is not particularly well known and yet the knowledge of it found its way to me very early on. Of course, I am interested in it for obvious reasons, as I have created an artificial version of the phenomenon to ensure my continued existence. Whilst it is not always advantageous to rise again in the same place, in general such rapid cell renewal could have potential to complement my method.

All my observations so far - not just of the perpetual phenomenon, but of the different variations of cheating the final death that I have encountered - suggest that non-scientific methods are most likely to go back to the chaotic monsters worshipped by many as gods. However, since the earliest accounts of perpetuals go back much further than we know of these monsters, this must be due to either conscious contact or a version we have not yet encountered.

Naturally, I would like to get my hands on such an individual, but this is a difficult endeavour as they are so rare that psykers seem commonplace by comparison. And apparently their biology is otherwise no different from the basic phenotype. Another obstacle in singling them out for capture.

Well, luckily I have my own method of defying death, so I have time to find such a mutated creature.

[the-consortium]

Promethea looks up from some surgery on a beast man. "Wait... You said you need what of me?"

The clatter with which the datapad hits Promethea's worktable is harsh and loud, despite the usual noises of the lab. A few splashes of blood land on the glassaic surface and smear as she reaches for it.

Fabius stops a step away and crosses his arms. A gesture that the Chirurgeon copies to the best of its ability, folding itself gently around the Chief Apothecary's shoulders.

‘You could call it a test, if I were prone to such games. But since I am not, it is simply an assignment. You can take as many subordinates as you like. Except for Diomat, that would be too much.’

That seems to be all he has to say - yet he remains standing for a while, looking at the beastman on the operating table. One of the chirurgeon's arms darts forwards like a snake stabbing and a microscope attachment examines the incisions and sutures. His attention is focussed entirely on the strapped-down body. The datapad seems forgotten.

The green, flickering letters wait patiently for Promethea's gaze.

Of course I don't care what you think you have to do at the moment, dear brother. I know that you do not consider the continued existence of our legion a priority, but rest assured - I can make you change your mind.

In any case, you will meet me in the Rethorim Cluster. Exact coordinates will be sent to you as soon as your ship has passed the Mandeville point.

Eidolon, Lord Commander Primus