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Good work, I like this alot more than I liked it before. But I still do not like how you kill of a established character in the fluff. Such things are best left alone if you ask me.

The Sanguiuius part was very good however.

Trondheim wrote:Good work, I like this alot more than I liked it before. But I still do not like how you kill of a established character in the fluff. Such things are best left alone if you ask me.

The Sanguiuius part was very good however.

Thanks.

Also, the main reason I killed off some characters that lived in canon (Lorgar, Magnus, Mortarion, Russ, Reboute) was because they did pretty much nothing after the Heresy. What's the point of keeping all these super powerful dudes alive if you won't do anything with them?

Look at Magnus; Tzeentch is the Lord of Ambition. Does Magnus show ambition by doing pretty much nothing for the 10,000 years after the Heresy? Tzeentch should've taken away his Daemon Princedom by now and maybe turned him into a Chaos Spawn.

And Nurgle preaches to his followers to spread his various diseases. Mortarion just sits around on the Plague Planet all day, scratching his butt. All he's done since the Heresy is get fethed up by Draigo. Like Magnus, he's failed his god and it doesn't make sense that he's been rewarded for it.

Meanwhile, Russ just went to the Eye of Terror and apparently nothing happened. You'd think he'd have at least one battle with the Forces of Chaos or something, but nope. He just went there and then that's it. Supposedly he's coming back during the "Time of Ending" or something. It just sounds like the writers forgot about Russ.

Lorgar has been praying for 10,000 years straight. That's just stupid. Really stupid. And his Legion is doing pretty nicely without him. Hell, Lorgar was the worst thing to happen the Word Bearers. They're doing better off with no Primarch than with him and Erebus knew this.

Lastly, Reboute was stuck on life support on Macragge. The planet briefly conquered by Nids, who ate all life on it. Reboute was technically alive at the time; it's a plot hole that he wasn't eaten. If I wrote it, then he would get eaten.

I agree wholeheartedly with you on this. If you show a gun in the first scene of a play, you'd better have fired it 10, 000 years later ^^.

Plus, it explains a bit better why the Imperium is screwed, what with all the superheroes that saw it's birth now gone.

Would you plan on doing the 2 expurged Primarchs? It'd be nice for a change to have them fleshed out.

Well now you just went and won me over LL. well done

Hehe LL you show good promise in your arguments. Too many of the Primarches should be stopped just by the strain by Imperium. Often by several Chapter Masters together forcing a Primarch onto the retreat. The solution of bombing Mortarion to a retreat is realistic but not really what you want hear.

Same with the rest. As for the Emperor confronting Horus, I would have let it reek of that desperation, and also their personal pride. It is also what I can believe felled Sanguinius.

Ty for the comments they are much appreciated. So, here's stuff on Dorn and the two lost Primarchs.

So, I wrote a gakload of stuff about Rogal Dorn (there was more about him than any other Primarch), but I lost it all when my little sister messed with my computer (in my opinion the vicious bastardette erased it on purpose). I don't want to rewrite it, so I'll quickly summarize it here. Dorn was a lot more like a son to the Emperor than say the Lion, and he loved him very much. But then there was the Battle of Terra and the Emperor got dead. Reboute Guilliman decided to take charge, so Dorn and Khan opposed him. Note: Dorn, Khan and Guilliman were the only living loyalist Primarchs at this point. The other loyalists were dead of...

Corax-Suicide
Vulkan-Nuclear Annihilation
Lion-???
Ferrus-Decapitation
Lorgar-Melta gun blast
Russ-The Plagues of Nurgle
Sanguinius-Sword to the heart

So, Guilliman got the Mechanicum on his side (by promising as Emperor to let them continue worshiping the Void Dragon) and the Imperial Guard (by promising to split up the Space Marine Legions and revoke their power over the Imperial Guardsmen accompanying them). It looked like there was going to be another civil war, but then there was the Iron Cage Incident. Basically what happened there is that Perturabo outwitted and roflstomped Dorn, but then Guilliman saved his life. Guilliman forced Dorn to swear fealty and abide by the Codex Astartes, in exchange for not letting Perturabo kill his yellow arse. Perturabo attempted to retreat back to the Eye of Terror, but his fleet was attacked and he got dead when an atomic super missile made of other atomic super missiles hit his ship.

Dorn is all depressed now, because he has very little power (he used to lord over an entire Legion of Space Marines, a vast fleet and dozens of regiments of guardsmen, but now he just has 1000 space marines). Then Abaddon attacks with the 1st Black Crusade. The Traitor Legions are just as strong as they were at the height of the Horus Heresy, while the Imperium teeters on the verge of collapse. During the Isstvan V Massacre and the Schism of Mars, they lost a great deal of military strength. So it looks like the Imperium is dead.

Reboute Guilliman starts doing everything in his power to stop Abaddon. He raises tariffs, takes out loans and drafts every nearby civilian. Imperial forces are withdrawn from a thousand battlefields across the galaxy, leaving billions of besieged civilians to die. It doesn't look like it's going to be enough though. So then Dorn comes in and does a suicide attack type thingy to push the Traitor Legions back to Cadia and then it ends up like the Battle of Thermopylae, with the Imperium as the 300 and the Traitor Legions as the Persians. Despite having superior numbers, Abaddon is held back at the choke point.

Dorn isn't really mourned or celebrated as a martyr like Sanguinius though. Reboute never really liked the dude, so he makes sure that Dorn is remembered as the guy who failed at his one job; protecting Terra. Pretty much, Dorn's life sucked because he chose the moral high ground. He could've sided with Horus and ensured the complete destruction of Terra and the triumph of the Traitor Legions. He could've sided with Guilliman and kept his prestige. He could've abandoned the dying Imperium and lived out a happy, peaceful life with those Imperial Fists who remained loyal to him.

But Dorn chose to stand up for the Imperium and paid for it with everything he held dear.



The Expunged Ones

A Home Among the Stars

In the 41st millenium, very little is known of the II and XI Legions and their Primarchs. There isn't the slightest record or trace of their existence, save a single cryptic document found in the bowels of Terra listing the Legions. Under the II and XI columns, the only text is 'Expunged by His Holy Decree'. The Inquisition have analyzed this document relentless, but their efforts have been fruitless. According to some Imperial historians, these Legions never really existed. The Apocrypha of Rtass, now deemed heretical, asserts that the two missing Legions sided with Horus but later rejoined the Imperium in exchange for their treachery being forgotten and their crimes pardoned sometime after the Battle of Calth but before the Siege of Terra. The idea that the Emperor would forgive such traitors, especially after the Massacre of Isstvan V, is dangerous in it's absurdity.

The two expunged Primarchs, Lord Glaurung and Lord Oblitus were indeed traitors, but of a different sort. They turned against the Imperium years before Horus did, and their treachery was far less disastrous for the Imperium. The Emperor had them dealt with very thoroughly and made an example of them, assuring that none would ever join their sinister cause. At the Great Crusade's start, the Emperor held no fear of Chaos or the C'tan. In his mind they were just obstacles to be conquered. But what Glaurung and Oblitus had done terrified him.

Glaurung was raised on the world of Ath'wea by Eldar Exodites. They were quite primitive compared to their space faring kin, having advanced to the technological level of 19th century mon-keigh. Though they were 'savage' by Imperial standards, their society was prosperous one with little violence or poverty. It certainly wasn't perfect, but it was far more hospitable than any of the Imperium's worlds. Glaurung's pod caught fire as he crash landed, lighting the infant ablaze. The Exodites found him a deformed foreigner from a race that had been trying to exterminate them. Nevertheless, they took him in.

Though his injuries would never completely heal, Glaurung recovered quickly and grew at an amazing pace. Soon the Exodites had realized that he was no ordinary mon-keigh. In two months he had seemingly aged twenty years. Despite his hideous appearance (his pale, reddish skin was constantly cracking and flaking from his thin, hairless body), the Exodites elected him as their planet's leader. Glaurung was quick in mind, strong in body and an able leader.

After ten years, the Imperium arrived. A Thousand Sons fleet came to Ath'wea with orders to conquer it on behalf of Magnus on behalf of the Emperor. Before they could begin their assault, Glaurung contacted them, claiming that he hoped to speak with the fleet commander personally. Thousand Sons Captain Artiarc agreed to come planetside and talk to to him. He was expecting a frail Eldar, clad in primitive armor, when he was instead greeted by a hideous giant. Artiarc was at first naturally repulsed and almost had Glaurung shot, but he was won over by the giant's friendly nature. Soon he realized that he was possibly speaking to a Primarch and so he contacted the Emperor.

His Honor, the Lord Worm

The Emperor came to Ath'wea personally. A variety of tests were performed, all of them confirming that Glaurung was in fact a Primarch of the II Legion. The Imperium came to know him as the Worm for his ugliness. Indeed, he seemed almost too hideous to be worthy of carrying out the Great Crusade. His scarred face was lipless and hairless with a devilish grin that stretched far too close to his ears, while his body was stick thin. Furthermore, he was quite hesitant about serving the Imperium. He viewed himself as a man of peace; the idea of murdering billions for a man he'd just met was repulsive, especially after spending his whole life with the peaceful Exodites. The Emperor won him over by preaching of how the Great Crusade was delivering innocent civilians from the tyranny of hostile xenos, like Orks or Daemons.

The Worm's Legion came to be known as the Angels Celestia. They specialized in the peaceful conquering of worlds, bringing human worlds into the Imperium fold without a drop of blood shed. Nevertheless, they could be quite brutal. When Orks threatened to overwhelm the Emperor's Children at Tonagra, the Angels Clementia slaughtered them down to the last greenskin. Glaurung never personally appeared in combat. For this he was mocked by many of his brothers. Some, especially Russ and Angron, called him unfit to lead his Legion.

Oblitus Found

While exploring the deep galactic south of Segmentum Pacificus, an Angels Celestia patrol fleet came across a badly damaged shuttle fleeing from crystalline Psy-Gore attack ships. The vessel was of an old human design, dating back to the Dark Age of Technology, but was barely recognizable. The engines were in flames, leaving a trail of debris as the shuttle moved along on sheer momentum. It's hall was warped by heat in some places and simply blasted away in others.

While the patrol watched, the shuttle blazed through the rings of Navatro, weaving through the expanses of floating debris with ease. Three of the four Psy-Gore vessels came in after, but didn't share the shuttle's success. Great boulders of ice and rock pummeled the crystalline ships, flat out destroying one and damaging the two others. The shuttle was gradually descending as it swung around Navatro, utilizing the mining world's powerful gravity to gain speed. Diamond warp cannons blasted after the shuttle with bolts of blue flame but the shuttle's skillful pilot managed to dodge each one. Furthermore, the recoil was slowing the attack ships down, widening the gap between them and their prey.

Just as the shuttle was about to complete a full loop around Navatro when it instead swerved off to the side with the speed it'd gained. Both Psy-Gore ships simply whizzed past , taking another beating from the world's deadly rings. One attack ship exploded after an unlucky hit to the engine and the one following it was tore to shreds by the crystalline wreckage. The shuttle wasn't safe yet though. The final Psy-Gore ship, which had waited a safe distance from Navatro's rings was ready for it. It's warp cannons began to glow with grey daemon flame as they charged. Crackling lightning emitted from psychic runes running up the length of the bridge. Even the most skilled of pilots wouldn't be able to avoid or survive the oncoming barrage.

At that moment, the Angels Celestia chose to open fire on the unsuspecting Psy-Gores. The attack ship exploded in a cloud of corrosive warp flame and melted flesh. It briefly formed the visage of a screaming man, his jaw unhinged and eyes seemingly glazed over before dissipating away.

When the Angels Celestia boarded the shuttle, they found a small crew of ten panicking engineers, navigators and gunners led by a stern faced giant. Tanned skin and extremely muscular with flowing dark hair and a piercing gaze, he was seemingly identical to the Emperor. The Astartes immediately recognized the gifted pilot as a Primarch and alerted Glaurung. The Worm met with the newly found Primarch personally. When asked for his name, he said, "I have many. Most of my people refer to me just as 'His Majesty.' The Psy-Gore called me the Great Enemy. My parents named me Varan, but that never stuck. I suppose I'd prefer the Eldar's name for me; Oblitus. It has a certain ring to it."

The Seed is Sown

Glaurung and Oblitus spoke for hours. The Worm explained the creation of their Primarchs and their purpose in the Great Crusade. He expected Oblitus to be happier to learn of his true father and his purpose in life. Instead, Oblitus incessantly asked questions. If they were all clones of the Emperor, why did he hold authority over them? Shouldn't they all be equal? If the Great Crusade was about advancing humanity, why did it focus so much on conquest and bloodlust? Oblitus had come from the Technocratic Republic of Del'vor and wasn't too pleased to hear of the Mechanicum's blatant oppression of new ideas and progress. By their insane standards, the technology he'd used in evading the Psy-Gore warranted execution for himself and his crew.

The Worm promised that the Emperor would have answers to all of his questions back on Terra, and so they went. There were the usual pomp and festivities associated with the finding of a Primarch. Parties were thrown and speeches were held. The XI Legion paraded throughout Terra now united with their Primarch. Oblitus named them the Death's Heads after his guerrilla fighters back on Del'vor and had them painted in dark green and grey. Despite spending months in the Imperial Palace, Oblitus spoke with the Emperor very little. Malcador, the Emperor's most esteemed servant, usually claimed that his master was attending to matters of the greatest importance, though Oblitus suspected that his 'father' was blowing him off.

Oblitus was still able to speak with Glaurung and two other recently found Primarchs, Corax and Fulgrim. Corax's insane motivation for following the Imperium disturbed him and Fulgrim seemed to be leaving in blissful ignorance, purposefully blinding himself to the atrocities committed in the Emperor's name. At one point Oblitus was intent on breaking into the Emperor's quarters when he refused to see him when Fulgrim attempted to dissuade him by saying, "He's offering you the galaxy Oblitus; all he wants in return is fealty. Do this and you'll lose everything." Though Oblitus was stopped in his tracks, it was by disgust more than anything else.

Glaurung couldn't escape the possibility that Oblitus was right. The XI Primarch's words haunted him. During one of their many arguments, the Worm brought up the Emperor's mercy towards his Exodite parents as proof that he was a just leader. By this point it was time for the Death's Heads and the Angels Celestia to rejoin the Great Crusade, so Oblitus suggested that they journey to Glaurung's homeworld to prove it. Glaurung readily agreed, seeing it as an excuse to speak with his surrogate parents.

Childhood Nostalgia

Ath'wea was a dead world in the midst of a tumultuous terraforming.

According to the Adeptus Mechanicus crews responsible for the operation, Ath'wea had been bombed into submission by the Iron Warriors Legion. The Exodites had refused to evacuate their planet to make room for a human colony and had paid dearly. Perturabo, the Iron Warriors Primarch, took pride in the operation; he'd purged an entire Xenos world without sustaining a single causality. In fact, the Emperor himself had taken note of the Iron Warriors' efficiency and lauded it. They had made sure to do this while Glaurung was off in the Segmentum Pacificus, cut off from the rest of the Imperium. They didn't want to start a fuss.

that's all i have for now. Going to finish this in next 14 hours.

very tired, felt the need to type this

Casting the HH series

1. Horus-Christian Bale
2. Reboute-John Travolta
3. Fulgrim-Ryan Gosling
4. Sanguinius-Brad Pitt
5. Angron-Vin Diesel
6. Ferrus-Sean Connery
7. Magnus-Christopher Lee
8. Vulkan-Samuel L. Jackson
9. Perturabo-Michael Fassbender
10. Oblitus-Liam Neeson
11. Glaurung-Denzel Washington
12. Lorgar-Liam Neeson
13. Dorn-Sean Bean
14. Corax-Hugo Weaving
15. Alpharius-Keanu Reeves
16. Curze-Tom Hardy
17. Mortarion-
18. Russ-Bruce Willis
19. Khan-Jason Momoa
20. El'Jonson-


Teh Emprah-Alec Baldwin

Add in rest momentarily

I do not under any circumstances approve of this. If you intend to rework fluff make suer it dont colide with establised fluff as I have mentione several times before.

And Horus as Christian Bale?

You don't approve of assigning actors to characters? Or the thing about the 9th and *insert number*th legion?

The bloke that played Raz Al Ghul in Batmas would make a good Mortarion, make him up to look proper wheezy with skin sloughing off him, that'd be ace.

Maybe James Purefoy as El' Jonson? (See film Knights Tale for reference)

No I dont approve of altering already established fluff. And I dont see Christian Bale as a good Horus really. That role would be much better played by Crispin Glover or perhaps the dude who played Eomer in LOTR

When you say altering existing fluff, do you mean abuot the unknown legions? Coz there's no fluff about them...

*sigh* No what I meant and what I assumed that was understood what was the things regarding the Imperial Fists and their Primarc

*Huff* It's understood now that you've actually specified which bit you disapproved of. Thanks for the clarification, it means a lot

Your welcome

Trondheim wrote:*sigh* No what I meant and what I assumed that was understood what was the things regarding the Imperial Fists and their Primarc

If I may ask, what is it that you dislike about the Dorn stuff?

kitch102 wrote:You don't approve of assigning actors to characters? Or the thing about the 9th and *insert number*th legion?

The bloke that played Raz Al Ghul in Batmas would make a good Mortarion, make him up to look proper wheezy with skin sloughing off him, that'd be ace.

Maybe James Purefoy as El' Jonson? (See film Knights Tale for reference)

Yeah, Raz Al Ghul was pretty badass. Liam Neeson (the actor behind him) should be playing Mortarion.

And I haven't seen Knights Tale yet, so I dunno much about James Purefoy.

I recommend it, it's a really good film. Purefoy plays the Black Knight (Prince of Wales) so that character stacks up pretty well to how I imagine The Lion would be.

Here's a good clip - Purefoy's the oen in the brown great coat thing.

@LoneLictor : Basicly the whole thing, I may be in the minority here but I was rather unimpresed by it. And as you already know such iconic figures should not be killed of in that manner

Trondheim wrote:@LoneLictor : Basicly the whole thing, I may be in the minority here but I was rather unimpresed by it. And as you already know such iconic figures should not be killed of in that manner

That's how he was killed in canon though. I didn't change anything about his death. That's what it actually was.

@Kitch

Yeah, Purefoy would make a good Lion.

LoneLictor wrote:

Trondheim wrote:@LoneLictor : Basicly the whole thing, I may be in the minority here but I was rather unimpresed by it. And as you already know such iconic figures should not be killed of in that manner

That's how he was killed in canon though. I didn't change anything about his death. That's what it actually was.

@Kitch

Yeah, Purefoy would make a good Lion.

Yes I know, I was not pleased when I read it the first time. Sometimes fluff is horrid.

Trondheim wrote:

LoneLictor wrote:

Trondheim wrote:@LoneLictor : Basicly the whole thing, I may be in the minority here but I was rather unimpresed by it. And as you already know such iconic figures should not be killed of in that manner

That's how he was killed in canon though. I didn't change anything about his death. That's what it actually was.

@Kitch

Yeah, Purefoy would make a good Lion.

Yes I know, I was not pleased when I read it the first time. Sometimes fluff is horrid.

So I should change it? But you said...

Trondheim wrote:No I dont approve of altering already established fluff.

You want it to stay the same, but you also want it to be different?

Yes and no. Sorry for being so unclear Im not very good at typing these kinda forms of critique. I would REALLY like to see Dorn receive fluff that is suitable for a Primach like him but I was not won over by the stuff you posted. Although is is in some regard way better than what has been officially released

Once again my apologies for being so vague

Trondheim wrote:I do not under any circumstances approve of this. If you intend to rework fluff make suer it dont colide with establised fluff as I have mentione several times before.

Seems a bit pointless to limits your alterations when your writing an alternate history... You only need the characters recognizable, and that's perfectly possible to do so since they keep the same names and same themes. On top of things, the established fluff is simply bad. Lonelictor has already demonstrated, through a few of his fanfic, that he has about the cumulated talent of the entire studio writing staff.

It isn't exactly surprising that alternate Heresy keeps popping up, like the Dornian Heresy. As long as they avoid being simply a way of interchanging which Legions goes with which Gods, it's gonna be warranted by the gakfull story the studio gave us.

Also, just for gaks and giggles, Al Pacino for Horus. Best Devil ever, after all.

Special request, can we have Mortarion next? And when you do, can you try to explain how the hell he can wear a necklace that exhudes poisonous vapour and not suffer any ills from it please?!

Love that guy, think he's trés cool, but some of his background doesn't make sense to me... hoping you can change that

Decent ideas altough i dont think it diverges enough from the Original fluff and Dornian heresy. I think you would have to radically change the events of the horus heresy to make it worth while.

I enjoyed your lost primiarchs story however. The first fiction i wrote here was a lost primarch one. I liked the Glaumrung Character altough Oblitus was pretty under-developed.

I personally prefer the idea of them being raised as brothers on the same world and murdering each other after one finds out the truth.

Obviously the most sensible explanation is a rejection of the emperor, like Angron but more determined, possibly even resorting to suicide. Also it is widely accepted that one or both is still lost in the warp or is Sigmar/Valten lol.

Ty for the comments. Here's something I wrote to introduce the Traitors, since I'll be doing them next (after I finish the Expunged Primarchs stuff). Yeah, Fulgrim is missing. That's because this takes place after Isstvan V and in my version, Fulgrim is loyal up until Isstvan V. Mortarion is coming next, followed by Fulgrim.

The six Primarchs, diverse in temperament, entered the palace of the Warmaster united in awe and soul trembling fear. One hundred Astartes of the 1st Company watched fearlessly as the Primarchs passed them by. They were clad in Tactical Dreadnought armor of the finest caliber, decorated with cursed fetishes and icons to the Ruinous Powers. Their slanted, canine looking helmets had grown monstrous tusks and horns. Rows of trophy poles ran down their hunched backs, proudly displaying the helmets and skulls of their loyalist brothers. The twisted, bestial creatures incased within the cold ceramite began frothing uncontrollably at the sight of the Emperor’s sons, barely able to curb their raging soulthirst. Only Abaddon’s watchful gaze kept them inline.

The palace was a living, breathing thing, made up of thousands of entwined and knotted tentacles. They squirmed and writhed incessantly, secreting an oily black substance that slicked the xeno-hide floor. Pillars of human bone supported the rasping, many eyed ceiling. It shuddered with each heavy breath.

The six Primarchs entered in the order they saw fit, seating themselves at an onyx table. At the table’s head was the Warmaster’s vacant throne, with Captain Abaddon standing to the right of it. Abaddon was helmetless; an eight pointed star with the infamous Eye of Horus at its center could be seen carved into his forehead. Dark bags hung under his eyes, accentuated by his pale skin. A great wolf pelt had been draped across his shoulders. His armored gauntlets rested on the pummel of the dark blade Drach’nyen, planted in the fleshy ground. It writhed with the faces of a thousand ensnared Daemons, silently screaming for all eternity. Though the Captain was dwarfed by the Primarchs, he seemed more imposing than any of them.

Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, whose once virtuous Legion was now one of unrepentant rapists and killers, was the first to take a seat. Ever so boldly he chose to sit at the table’s opposite head, facing the Warmaster’s throne. His pale features registered only disdain for his surroundings. He was a murderous tyrant responsible for the deaths of billions, but in his self righteousness he refused to be yet another of Chaos’ pawns. His brothers’ lack of resistance appalled him.

The floor squelched beneath Perturabo’s iron boots as he came in next, his armor dripping with accumulated moisture. He chose a seat at the side of the Warmaster’s throne. With his great armor he was broader and heavier than any of his Brother Primarchs. Furious pistons, hydraulic tubes rushing with coolant and clanking gears could be seen where his form wasn’t completely incased by shining steel plate. His face was a patchwork of scar tissue. Wires ran down the back of head, plugging into his armor’s adamantium hood. He regarded his surroundings dispassionately with cold, sunken-in eyes. Lord Perturabo was unfazed by the palace’s corruption, at least on the surface.

At the throne’s other side, Mortarion the Plague King and Nurgh-Leth’s chosen son sat. His gut was ruptured open and his swaying intestines bound together as a loin cloth. Flies and maggots swarmed his decayed form, engorging themselves on his flaking corpse. A hood of tanned flesh hid his rotted face from his brothers, who made no secret of their disgust towards his newfound form. Mortarion had befouled himself and his perfect Legion with disease in the search for immortal life, leaving him a bloated and malformed husk of a Primarch.

Chains rattled at Lorgar’s approach. The Bishop of Chaos, who at other times preferred the title of Prophet, took a seat besides Mortarion. Like the Plague King, he was unrecognizable from his former self. His teeth had been filed down into yellow spikes and his tongue had been cut through the middle so that it was now forked. A maze of tattoos ran across his face, forming the unholy icons of his gods. The Prophet took pride in his mutilated form more than anything else. He grinned at no one in particular, unable to hide his childlike delight. The gods he so revered had the galaxy within their grasp, and the Imperium he hated was about to fall.

Alpharius, his form unblemished and motives unknown, seated himself next to Konrad. He wore the standard blue and green, broad shouldered power armor of his Legion. There were no leering skulls, spiked trophy poles or wolf pelts on his armor, just smooth ceramite. His face was expressionless, despite his recent censure and humiliation at the Emperor’s hands. Unlike his brothers, he simply held the title of Commander, as opposing to dubbing himself Lord or Prophet. He had never cared for the pomp and festivities the Imperium hid its festering core behind.

The last of the Primarchs to be seated was Angron. He was a hulking monstrosity of arcane machinery and bloodied musculature. Wires, cords and hydraulic tubing ran about his form. His skinless face was slanted and canine, though his eyes betrayed the slightest hint of human intelligence. Great leathery wings were folded at his back, riddled with bullet holes from his latest battles. He had always been known as the Red Angel, the title seemed to fit more now than ever before. He and Mortarion had been the first of his brothers to be elevated to Daemon Princedom, in his case having gained the favor of the Blood God with many years of wanton slaughter.

For their undying devotion, they had been rewarded with deformity and enslavement. Recast into grotesque forms by their Dark Gods, they would be expected to lead lives of unending warfare with death as their only release.

The Prophet Lorgar’s callow grin left his face the moment the Red Angel sat beside him. Angron took a degree of savage delight from his brother’s fear and turned towards Curze to see if the Night Haunter was doing likewise. Sneering, Curze fearlessly returned Angron’s gaze. This angered Angron greatly, as most things did, and he let out a low steady growl.

The Primarchs sat in tense silence, waiting for the Warmaster’s arrival. The magnitude of what they were doing, combined with their unpleasant surroundings, had cowed them into silence. Mortarion was the first of them to regain his wits. “First Captain Abaddon,” he said, spewing strings of thick mucus with each syllable. “Is the Warmaster to arrive?”

“The Warmaster finds himself preoccupied. Furthermore, the full council is not even in attendance yet.” Abaddon spoke with a sociopathic confidence. It wasn’t the false bravado of the Primarchs; it was true fearlessness. In a room with so many powerful beings, lying on the verge of the greatest war humanity has ever known, he shouldn’t have been so sure of himself.

“I was of the belief that we were all in attendance,” said Mortarion.

“Not quite.” As if on cue, footsteps echoed throughout the palace. “And I believe he is here.”

A pale blue feathery thing entered through the door way. It was a wizened fusion of bird and man, with two beaked heads. It wore a gold and white loin cloth, but beyond that was completely naked. One of its heads was bald and wrinkled with a web of cracks running across its beak. Its milky white, cataract glazed eyes were cold and dead. The other head was more youthful, with vibrant feathers and an overall healthier appearance. Two great wings came from its hunched back, shadowing its form.

“Fateweaver, it’s always a pleasure. Please, take a seat.” The bird, leaning on a marble staff, hobbled its way to the seat between Perturabo and Alpharius so that it was facing Lorgar. It’s back creaked as it sat. Leaning forward, the bird squawked menacingly at the Prophet. Abaddon regarded the bird like an impudent child. “Is there something you would like to say?”

The younger of the heads said, “Prophet Lorgar, Bishop of the Word Bearers, who is so esteemed amongst his peers, I beg of you to let me sing your praise! You are intelligent and masterful, a truly worthy leader! Strong and fearsome, you are the greatest of your brothers and Chaos’ shining star! May humanity’s posterity revere and venerate you for all eternity as the Saint you are!”Each word was imbued with bitter essence of falsehood. Curze and Perturabo grinned. Angron would’ve cackled loudly, but he didn’t know how.

Lorgar’s hurt pride outweighed his fear of the Daemon. He leapt to his feet, cheeks flaming in rage. “It must be a miserable existence, seeing both the past and future and being unable to change either. You’re a slave to your perception a time, a puppet that can see its own strings. You have the Changer of Way’s favor for now, but you can see that you’ll be discarded like the misshapen bastard you are as soon as you’re no longer useful. What’s it like, knowing how you’ll die and being unable to do anything about it?”

The older head regarded Lorgar calmly. “Indeed it is a cruel fate, a horrid fate, but it can be no worse than yours. You have served Chaos’ purpose already, Prophet.” Its face contorted into a sneer at the word. “They have no more use for you. In the grand scheme of thing you’ve become but another loose end for them to take care of.” Curze had stopped smiling, put off by the sheer cruelty of the Daemon’s worlds. Angron, capable of little beyond rage, and Perturabo, a sadist at heart, still seemed to regard the argument with glee.

“If you truly believe that the Dark Pantheon would have no more use for a Primarch, one of the Emperor’s own sons, then you’re more of a fool than I thought. Perhaps your master has once again hidden the future from your gaze? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”

Fateweaver let the words linger, choosing to wordlessly stare down Lorgar. The once proud and great Daemon, now humbled in the service of Tzeentch and bound to follow a script that only he could see, had become a dreadful wraith of conviction. In Fateweaver’s cold gaze Lorgar saw his entire life flashing before him, from his creation in Terra’s laboratory fortresses to his upcoming role in the Horus Heresy, accumulating in a bloody death. The Daemon had chosen to reveal very little of it, only allowing him a hazy glimpse at his blasted corpse, barely held together by a web of stringy gore. Burnt, cracked flesh was peeling from the blackened and shattered remnants of his bones.

Lorgar shrunk back to his seat, silent. “You lie,” he said. His voice bore a desperation that filled his brothers with dread, save Angron. The Red Angel let out a series of deep grunts that were his attempt at laughter.

“We should be courteous and kind to Brother Lorgar. Without his efforts, we would never be having this council and the Imperium’s cruelty would remain unopposed,” Mortarion said. He spoke slowly and carefully, struggling to speak such elaborate sentences with the sludge accumulating in his throat.

Angron shouted furiously, his teeth slicing at his mouth as he spoke. Blood began to pour from his maw. Soon he was gagging and choking on it, rendering anything he said incomprehensible. His new daemonic form wasn’t meant to speak. Slaughter was its purpose and only that.

The bloodlust began to well up within him. Rusted brain implants from the Dark Age of Technology, deemed unclean by the Adepts of the Mechanicum, set to work putting his half lobotomized, daemonically bastardized mind into a state of inconsolable rage. This was the anger he’d spent his entire life struggling against; every waking moment was a desperate struggle just to keep from launching on another wanton killing spree. It was an itch he knew he couldn’t scratch but so desperately wanted to. The unending mental warfare had worn Angron down. In his weakness and self hatred Khorne had come to him, beseeching the Primarch to embrace his anger.

Angron began to pant heavily. What little intact portions remained of his mind understand that now was neither the time nor place to let the bloodlust take hold. They were there to discuss the upcoming war, wherein he would be free to kill as much as he pleased. The galaxy would be his for the taking, he just had to calm down and wait.

“You’re all pathetic,” said Curze.

“Brother Konrad, please-”

He cut Mortarion off at once. Staring down the Plague King with a gaze of fire, the Night Haunter said, “You’re an abomination. How can you preach of your Legion’s benevolence after the horror you unleashed on Isstvan III?”

His gaze turned to Lorgar. “You’re an impudent child. At the very least, Brother Mortarion is fit to lead his Legion.”

His gaze turned to Angron. “You’re a feral dog, not a Primarch. If the Warmaster had any integrity, he would’ve put you down long ago.”

His gaze turned to Perturabo. “You’re a-”

Roaring, Angron pulled Curze back by his hair so that his throat was exposed. Angron lunged forward, blood sloshing forth from his gaping maw. A thousand needle sharp teeth were poised to tear out the Night Haunter’s jugular. Just as he was about to bite, he felt the cold steel barrel of a plasma pistol pressed up against his throat.

Curze’s pistol was glowing faintly. The Imperium’s plasma weapons were simple in design. A cartridge of gas was superheated into a blob of plasma, which was then discharged. If the gas cartridge was heated for too long, the pistol would explode. If it wasn’t heated enough, there wouldn’t be enough plasma to kill the enemy.

The Primarchs’ immediate futures depended on how long Curze had been heating the pistol under the table.

At that moment, every Terminator of the 1st Company fell to their knees, abasing themselves before an invisible presence. A hundred suits of Tactical Dreadnought armor clanked and groaned at the unfamiliar movement; Terminator armor was not meant for bowing. Even the prideful Abaddon bowed, a look of reverence on his pale face.

The Warmaster appeared through a doorway that hadn’t been there moments ago. A chorus of whispering Daemons followed his presence. His imposing form was cloaked in shadows, save for his chiseled face, which was illuminated by the dull lights of his armor’s hood. There was an intensity in his eyes that chilled his brothers.

He spoke one word to them.

“Kneel.”

Whoa, now that's an alternate history. I can't wait to see what you do with Horus

Remind me to not piss of Horus if I should be so unlucky to ever meet him

Very good. Looking foward to the next part.

Fulgrim, Lord of the III Legion

When the Primarchs were flung across the galaxy, Fulgrim came to land on Chemos, a world dying a slow death. There, the sun was never more than a distant smudge in the smog choked skies. Unchecked industrialization had stripped away the last of the planet's resources and warpstorms had cut it off from the rest of humanity. Despite strict rationing, the majority of it's twelve billion inhabitants were left starving. Cannibalism became the norm, and prisoners were often eaten to pay for their crimes. Not meeting one's work quota was the most dire of crimes, more despicable than rape or murder.

Like the other Primarchs, Fulgrim rose to power over his homeworld. He did so by taking a stand the entropy, rather than just trying to squeak by like Chemos' previous rulers. Under his leadership, expedition teams were sent out to reclaim abandoned mining outposts. Ancient machinery was modernized and improved. Recycling outposts were set up all across Chemos. It was a costly endeavor, but it paid off. Within a year of Fulgrim's reign, Chemos was producing more than it consumed for the first time in centuries. Fulgrim took great pride in re-fostering Chemos' art and culture, which had been sacrificed in the struggle for survival.

During his years on Chemos, Fulgrim became a perfectionist. Where he had been raised, failure and weakness meant death and 'just good enough' would never be good enough. It was only natural that he strived for perfection in all his endeavors. Fulgrim was also possibly bipolar. He through manic fazes, where he was obsessed with improvement, and depressive fazes where the flaws of the universe around him seemed too much to bear.

The Great Crusade eventually reached Chemos. Emerging from a brilliant golden Thunderhawk and surrounded by a retinue of some the finest warriors the galaxy had ever known, the Emperor met with Fulgrim. He spoke to his clone-son of the glorious Imperium of Man and the Great Crusade, as well as the Primarchs' intended role in it. The Emperor offered Fulgrim an opportunity to make a lasting difference for the better, and he immediately swore fealty.

Upon reaching Terra, Fulgrim was informed that a terrible disaster had destroyed the majority of his Legion's geneseed. Only two thousand demoralized Astartes were left, having long since given up hope. In one of his manic fazes, Fulgrim addressed them. "We are His Children," the Primarch said, fervor in his voice. "Let all who look upon us know this. Only by imperfection can we fail him. We will not fail!" Moved by Fulgrim's words, the Emperor bestowed upon the Legion, now named the Emperor's Children, the rare honor of wearing the Imperial Aquila. Fulgrim was dubbed the Phoenix for rising from the ashes.

Initially the Emperor's Children fought alongside the Luna Wolves, lacking the numbers to venture out on the Great Crusade alone. Only the way they began to recruit, gradually rebuilding their Legion. Though the Emperor's Children were small in number, their Astartes were said to be the most skilled of all the Legions. Fulgrim had set in place extremely demanding recruitment standards, rivaled only by those of the Adeptus Custodes. Every of the Phoenix's Astartes was expected to handle his given role in a plan perfectly.

With the responsibility of ruling over a Legion weighing down on him, Fulgrim's perfectionism worsened. He developed a bitter hatred for the mundane and the flawed, becoming obsessed with achieving perfection. The Imperium's unwarranted cruelty and his father's greed weighed down on him, as it became apparent he was serving an imperfect Empire. Despite his resentful nature, Fulgrim was a charming and friendly individual on the surface, maintaining good relations with all his brothers. The only ones he ever truly felt close to were Ferrus, Curze and the Warmaster Horus, all highly driven and capable warriors.

The incident with the expunged Primarchs and the execution of Magnus greatly shook Fulgrim's faith in what he was doing, but he stayed loyal to the Imperium. The Phoenix had spent almost his entire life carrying out the Great Crusade and he was afraid to stop. Furthermore, what alternatives were there to the Imperium? This horrible empire was the last bastion of humanity. Fulgrim was forced to either accept imperfection or abandon his life's work.

The Sons of Horus, led by the Warmaster, declared his secession from the Imperium, alongside three other Legions; the Word Bearers, Death Guard and World Eaters. Twelve billion innocents had been slain on Isstvan III, briefly obscuring the Astronomicon. Thousands of vessels were lost in the warp, adding millions more to the causalities and leaving the Imperium reeling. At Calth the Ultramarines Legion was shattered by a surprise attack from the Word Bearers. Mars burned as the Mechanicum turned on itself. The Emperor dispatched seven Legions, including the Emperor's Children, to bring the Warmaster to justice.

Fulgrim, having been ordered to slay his brother, decided that the universe was a horrible place and he wanted no part in it. He locked himself in his quarters, going days without eating or drinking in his self imposed exile. The Emperor's Children were left abandoned by their Primarch and forced to carry out the Emperor's orders by themselves. They set course for Isstvan V, where they would be part of the loyalist 2nd wave, fighting besides the Alpha Legion, Night Lords and Iron Warriors. Unbeknownst to them, those three Legions had turned traitor alone with the Warmaster. The Alpha Legion planned to sabotage the Emperor's Children the night before the battle, so that the Night Lords could unexpectedly slaughter them at the height of the battle. Meanwhile, the Iron Warriors would open fire on the 1st loyalist wave, already pinned against the Warmaster's forces, and destroy them. It would be a clean slaughter, taking out four loyalist Legions and putting the Imperium back on the defensive.

The Phoenix fell into a state of delirium, slowly spiraling into insanity as he reminisced over past injustices and failures. In a fit of rage he trashed his quarters, destroying his invaluable collect of art. The floor was strewn with the rubble of marble statues he'd torn down and blasted apart. Paintings had been burnt to ashes and holoslates cracked. Amid the debris there was the occasional glinting fragment of one of the room's great stained glass windows, which Fulgrim had attacked with a fearsome powerfist. As his rage subsided, despair took its place. Using a shard from one of the stained glass windows, Fulgrim carved an ugly spiraling pattern into both wrists and reclined in his throne, waiting to die.

Across the galaxy at Terra, the Emperor had ordered the Phoenix to attend a celebration over the recent liberation of the world Chronos from Orks. He understand that maintaining a good image was especially important now that the Warmaster had turned traitor. Fulgrim was expected to give a quick speech and then mingle with the guests for a few hours, before continuing on his way to Isstvan V. All the Emperor's Children knew was that their Primarch had locked himself away in his quarters, in direct violation of the Emperor's orders. Believing they had no choice, they broke inside.

What they found horrified them. The Phoenix had gone mad and was on the verge of death. A team of apothecaries led by Fabius Bile managed to pull Fulgrim back from the brink of death. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in a barely comatose shake. They drugged him with a slew of stimulants, hoping to shake him from his malaise by the time of the celebration.

As the drugs took hold and the Phoenix fell into an artificially induced euphoria, he fell victim to the whispering of Slaanesh. For the first time in years Fulgrim truly felt happy and Slaanesh preyed on this. She spoke of how Fulgrim's obsessive perfectionism only caused hurt. By concentrating on all the negativity in the world, he'd driven himself to attempt suicide. True pleasure, true happiness came from the sensual. It came from drugs, art, sex, food, music, murder and all the hedonistic joys of modern life. And if Fulgrim abandoned his pursuit of perfection and turned his back on the God-Emperor, he could have it all.

He arrived at the celebration in the usual amethyst-colored, golden edged armor of his Legion. On the surface he seemed fine. Like a typical politician, he shook people's hands and kissed babies' foreheads as he made as way to the stage. His smile was warm and genuine, showing no signs of the emotional turmoil he'd been through. "I understand we have some Custodes in the audience tonight," Fulgrim said, beginning his speech. He stood proudly over a marble podium with several spotlights making him the center of all attention. It was the audience's impression he was going to applaud them for doing the Emperor's work, or maybe tell some kind of joke. Instead, he said, "Kill them all."

His Honor Guard were well trained. They did not question orders, they obeyed them. As soon as Fulgrim gave the command, they opened fire on the Custodes with twin barreled Storm bolters. Though the Custodes were outnumbered and flanked, their response was ferocious. They charged into the Honor Guard, laying waste to them with glowing halberds. The celebration became a blood bath, with thousands of hapless civilians caught between the two feuding forces. As the fighting raged, Fulgrim gave his speech. The Phoenix gave praise to Slaanesh and promised freedom for his Emperor's Children to pursue pleasure in all it's forms.

The Emperor's Children were a highly overworked and stressed Legion who, like Fulgrim, were beginning to doubt the Imperium. It took very little to persuade them to turn traitor and devote themselves to the Pleasure Goddess. Thinking quickly, Fulgrim detonated several nuclear warheads in Chronos' atmosphere. The resulting EMP knocked out any unshiedled electronics, ensuring that the world wouldn't be able to inform the Emperor of their treachery. The radiation also had the added effect of sickening and weakening mortals, while leaving Astartes (with their sealed armor and superhuman biology) intact.

Slaanesh bestowed upon the Emperor's Children a vision of a truly free world, where evil was impossible because every experience was a source of pleasure and the more extreme it was, the better. Murder was the most liberating feeling for both the victim of the crime it's perpetrator.

Now savoring every sensation and exulting in physical excess, the Emperor's Children wrecked havoc on Chronos. They slaughtered mortals just to feel their endorphins rushing and watch the blood drip from their fingers. Other mortals were even less fortunate. Many were raped and tortured, just to sate the Traitor Legionnaires' lust for a fleeting moment of ecstasy. New sound based weaponry was developed and Noise Marines paraded down the street, decimating cities with aural spectacle. Pounding guitars, monstrous organs, heavy bass, beating drums and a chorus of sobbing mortals formed the soundtrack to the bloody orgy.

Alpha Legion infiltrators discovered that the Emperor's Children had gone traitor. They let them in on the secret that the rest of the 2nd wave had too, and their plan was to obliterate the 1st wave in a surprise attack. Fulgrim was overjoyed. He performed his job well, slaying his brother Ferrus Manus at the height of the massacre. For this he was elevated to Daemon Princedom. His new form was that of a great, mutli-limbed serpent, it's flesh built of the ceramite that was once Fulgrim's armor.

Though the Emperor's Children took part in the Battle of Terra, they did little to further the Warmaster's cause. Instead they targeted the world's civilian population. The Legion's Sorcerers and Apothecaries wantonly drew on the powers of Slaanesh, desecrating their bodies and souls in the process. Daemonettes were summoned by the thousands. Warriors randomly burst into mewling Chaos Spawn, which were then abused, violated and slain by their former comrades.

The Warmaster's death allowed the Emperor's Children to be pushed back to the Eye of Terra, where they couldn't be kept for long. While the warp storms surrounded the Eye of Terror lapsed they managed to slip out. They went on a rampage through the Segmentum Ultima, accumulating in a battle against the Ultramarines. It was there that Fulgrim slew the second of his Brothers, slitting Reboute Guilliman's throat with an envenomed blade. A vicious counterattack by a joint Imperial Guard and Ultramarine force managed to push them back to the Eye yet again.

The Emperor's Children soon faced a dire problem; they had a shortage of slaves. They'd gone through most of theirs rather quickly. Fulgrim chose to raid them from other Legions. An all out war started between the forces of Slaanesh and the rest of Chaos. At the Battle of Skalathrax, the Emperor's Children permanently shattered the World Eaters and stole most of their assets, including serfs, tanks, techno priests and the like. At Olympia they besieged Perturabo's fortress and sacked the Iron City. When they stole the Warmaster's corpse from the Black Legion, they had gone too far. Abaddon led a vicious counterattack, killing Fulgrim in single combat and crowning himself as the new Warmaster. The Emperor's Children were left a broken Legion, with most of them enslaved by the Black Legion to fight in their crusades.

gunna write up the fight between Ferrus Manus and Fulgrim soon.

That was cool, I think you may have swung me to paint up some EC with that, good work.

But... Chaos Spawn that were abused by Marines?! That's funny :p I can just imagine this spiny, oozing beast sat on a shrinks chair, being told to point where they touched him on the dolly lol