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Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

“We were not grand like the IIIrd, not wise like the XIVth, or efficient like the Tenth. Nor noble like the IXth, or gifted like the XVth. We were nothing that the other Legions were, and yet, I know that they all share our mistakes.

We were a warning. Let history remember us as such.”


~ Legion Master Tariq Zyad, ‘The Last King’


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Second Legion. The term in itself carries a considerable weight. Who doesn’t know the story of the Missing Legions, the IInd and XIth, or should I say, the lack of it. The Edict of Obliteration was quite effective, indeed.

Naturally, this leaves a lot of room for interpretation, both for the Legions’ ultimate demise as well as their character and legacy. What ultimately befell the two Legions is as interesting a question as is who these Legions were, what they believed in, how they fought and died until the day they were scrubbed from the Imperium’s collective memory.

Others, most of them far greater than myself, have already explored the creative avenues that surround the Missing Legions; a wealth of fantastic stories has already been written, a host of models has been modelled, converted and painted and theories upon theories have been thought out, piecing together the breadcrumbs left in the wake of the writers that keep pushing our beloved grimdark settings forward.

In the face of such a grand display of creativity and passion, it is easy to lose heart. My writing has yet to rise to its peak, my painting leaves much to be desired and my conversion skills are, in my honest opinion, probably not ready to take on a project of this scale and complexity.

But experience has taught me that a great challenge can be a great teacher. Only if we push ourselves into the unknown can we truly discover what we are capable of.

So I plunge myself into the darkness, and take with me a Legion!

In what follows below I will group all the stories about my personal Second Legion, which will (hopefully) range from book excerpts, interviews, battle scenes, etc. I'm still working on the Legion's full backstory, so if you spot any inconsistencies, poor writing or something else entirely, let me know

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++ Numeration: II
++ Primogenitor: El Moro, the Bull
++ Nomen: Taurans
++ Cognomen: ‘The Second’, later ‘Dawn Striders’
++ Homeworld: Landusa, Iberian System
++ Colours: Pre-Reunion: Dark grey, Post-Reunion: Tuscan with grey shoulder pads

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Records collected by the Historical Revision Unit, Deletion Team 27 on [classified]:

Currently available records: 4

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Act I: The Birth of Men, Who Would Be Kings

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++Excerpt from personal records of Remembrancer Sempronius Teker++

Spoiler:

"Welcome to the Pearl of Terra Complex. Identification, please."

The servitor's artificial voice sounded even more grating through the rusted intercom it was filtered through. One would imagine that on a city as grand as Terra, especially in its wealthier districts, one would take care to keep one's infrastructure in impeccable state, but apparently the residents of the Pearl of Terra Complex thought otherwise.

"Remembrancer Sempronius Teker, security code 3357-A-52."

"Please hold."

The intercom's static returned, and I was left to wait once again. I've done a lot of that in the previous days. I can't even remember the last time I've had to wait so much just to get to a source; usually, the title 'Remembrancer' opens whatever doors I need to have opened, if the source I'm interviewing hasn't already opened them for me. It should come as no surprise that most people, especially people who consider themselves even slightly important in the grand scheme of things, are extremely eager to share their version of a story to me, however irrelevant their perspective may actually be. I suppose the idea of being included in the grand and immense history of the Imperium appeals to them. I can't imagine their disappointment if they were ever to read what I actually write down of what nonsense they've usually spouted.

"Remembrancer Sempronius Teker. Security clearance confirmed. Please proceed through the door."

The complex's massive oakwooden doors, which to the owner's credit were properly maintained, glided open smoothly, revealing the complex's ivory interior.

My hasty strides resound loudly on the marble floor as I step through the doorway and make my way to the elevator, the path towards it marked by helpful pictograms. I have to admit that I'm rather anxious to finally meet my source. If my initial information is correct, this should be a most… enlightening session.

The elevator opens up to a hallway on one of the upper floors, the endpoint of my destination. A few steps further, and I stand before the final door separating me from my illustrious source. Before my hand can touch the door's wooden surface, a deep voice greets me from within.

"You may enter, Remembrancer."

My expectations met, I open the door.

[record corruption, proceeding to uncorrupted sequence]

"Please, Remembrancer - let us cease this performance. You know full well who I am."

A curt smile crosses my face. "How could I not, my Lord? Your reputation has always preceded you."

A grunt is my only reply. The giant lazily motions me to an armchair opposite himself with a casual gesture.

As I take place in the armchair (although the word 'chair' is far too mundane to refer to the exquisite furniture) I feel his eyes boring into me. Measuring. Judging. The look of a wary traveller at rest in a tavern, who keeps one eye on his drink and the other on his fellows. The kind of look that makes you wonder where the traveller keeps his knife.

Finally seated, I take a moment to simply observe my surroundings. At first glance, the interior of the palace is as luxurious and extravagant as any other on Terra; [record corrupted, proceeding to next sequence]

Meanwhile, a female servant has entered the room, carrying a plate with two wine glasses and a bottle on top. In silence, the servant places one of the glasses (a fine, elegant object, decorated with golden ornaments) on my chair's armrest, and fills it halfway with the crimson-coloured liquid from the wine bottle. She then proceeds to the giant on his throne, who barely acknowledges her as she fills his glass and places it besides him on a small wooden table.

She bows, and then quietly leaves us again, eyes cast downwards, as if she fears my curious gaze.

We are alone again, although the room feels occupied by the tension between us. The giant leans his chin on his left hand, patiently waiting for whatever questions I deign to ask. I am reminded of the great paintings I have seen in the palaces of conquered warlords; his pose is that of a king who has no more battles to fight and no more lands to conquer.
Disinterest and boredom mark his features, adding another layer of severity to his stern expression.

"So", I say, unclasping a dataslate from my belt.

"Where shall we begin?"


++ Excerpt from A Brief History of the Second Legion, by Remembrancer Karolus Herodon; declared Excommunicate Traitoris ++

Spoiler:
Of the two Legions that have been erased from history, it is the Second Legion whose passing has been mourned the least. The shame they wrought upon the Adeptus Astartes now pales in comparison to the debauchery that followed in the dark days of the Horus Heresy, but in its time, against the backdrop of the Emperor’s Great Crusade, it was a veritable stain upon the very core of the Imperium itself.

Although you must wonder what it was, this shameful action, this crime against humanity, that saw them so fully and thoroughly removed from memory. I must momentarily deprive you of that knowledge. For to understand the end one must first now the beginning. And where else than Terra, the Legion’s birthplace, could this chronicle begin?

Little is known of the Legion’s creation, as all records detailing their genetic composition have been carefully destroyed. From what can be gathered from the [RECORDS IN VIOLATION OF THE EMPEROR’S EDICTS] of [NON-EXISTANT IMPERIAL PERSONNEL], however, it appears that the Second was a genetic testbed for traits that would later characterize other Legions, much like how the First was a testbed for methods of combat. Although most of these traits eventually faded due to instability, the later generations of Legionnaires were markedly stronger and more agile than their peers, capable of wielding bulky weaponry with great ease.

This increased strength and agility was quickly put to good use by the nascent Legion; those who favoured close combat donned heavy armour and great blades, hammers and chainswords, the weight and bulk of their equipment barely felt by their enhanced musculature, while the Legion’s marksmen opted for heavy support weaponry which they learned to use as effectively and efficiently as others used Bolters.

Despite these obvious talents, the Second Legion saw little combat in its early days. Initially, due to its relatively small size at the time, its warriors were continuously seconded to the vaunted First, and thus were spread out across a variety of warzones in relatively small numbers, making it difficult for unified tactics and strategies (and in a sense, a Legion identity) to develop.

It should also be noted that they were not looked favourably upon by the First Legion’s officers. If informal sources are to be believed [THESE SOURCES NEITHER EXIST NOR ARE TO BE BELIEVED], some among the First resented the coming of the second Legion, seeing them as usurpers to their status as the Emperor’s Angels of Death.

Whether this is true is up to debate, although the fact that Second Legion detachments were often deployed as the first wave of attack and as garrison units in occupied territory cannot be overlooked. Their initial cognomen, “The Second”, was also established during this period, and can be interpreted in a number of ways, not all of them positive.

For a while, the Second continued to serve alongside their First Legion brethren, but as more Legions were formed and sent out to war the Legion’s officer cadre found it an appropriate time to reunite the various detachments. This led to the formation of an official command structure and the appointment of a Legion Master.

This honour was of course reserved for [NON-EXISTANT ASTARTES], of the 11th detachment, who had distinguished himself as both a skilled warrior and a competent leader in previous engagements alongside the First Legion, and who would later become the Primarch’s equerry.

At this point, the conquest of Terra was nearing its inevitable conclusion. It is in these final days that the Second Legion faced its darkest hour yet, an event that went into the Legion’s history as ‘The Nordafrik Incident’

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"We were proud of what we were, once. In the face of certain death, we sharpened our horns and charged in. No man can say that we ever took a step backwards willingly. We were proud, but more than that were we stubborn. I remember how the First once had to drag our mangled bodies from a battlefield because we simply refused to back down even when an artillery strike bathed our position in fire. Foolish? Irresponsible? Certainly. But our enemies never made it beyond that line. They didn't dare face us again."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++ Nordafrik Plateau, Moses' Passage, M30 (?)

Spoiler:

“-uad Kilo, cover the left! Cover the left!”
“THEY’RE EVERYWHERE, KEEP FIRING!”
“MORTARS! INCOMIN-“


I awake in a nightmare.

I lay in the ruins of what used to be the detachment’s command vehicle, covered in sand and debris. Barely conscious, I can only stare at the vehicle’s wrecked interior, whose sides look as if they were squeezed together by a giant. A fellow Legionnaire hangs motionless in a safety harness, thin stripes of blood dripping from his helmet grille.

From beyond the vehicle’s innards, I can hear a storm raging. A hurricane of screams and fire, roaring around my position. My brothers, I need to-

I cough up a hand of blood as I attempt to straighten myself, a sharp pain bringing my focus to a metal rod lodged in my chest. Hesitantly, I clasp it in my hands, ignoring my human instincts as I prepare to pull it out. The rod slips out of the wound, the pain agonizing but short-lived.

Stumbling through the wreck, I can hear my brothers more clearly now. Screaming. Dying. Fighting to the bitter end.

It was a trap. We knew it was, and yet we came here anyway. We should never have taken the path through Moses’ Passage, we should have-

A missile blasts the left side of the wreck, and I am sent sprawling into the other wall. Recovering quicker now, I rise once more and step through the newly-created opening into the light, ready to face whatever destiny awaits beyond.

The uncaring desert greets me as I stumble outwards and land on my hands and knees. My eyes follow the landscape upwards to the top of the dune, where the horizon is lit up by the explosive discharge of ballistic weapons. Thick black smoke rises from ruined vehicles, and trails of white show the trajectory of hastily-fired missiles. Before I can even grasp a good look at an enemy, I am yanked into cover by a familiar face.

“Tariq? By the Emperor, I’d thought we'd lost you in the first volley”, shouts Kulah, struggling to make himself audible over the cacophony of war that surrounds us. Kulah, blessed be the old bastard, used to be my Sergeant until the capture of Hill 86, when I was transferred to another squad. He’d clearly been fighting for a while now, given the shape of his armour and equipment. It took me a moment to realize that he’d lost his right arm, which had seemingly been severed at the elbow by a lucky plasma shot. The stump that remained hung immobile along his side, and I caught myself occasionally staring at it involuntarily through the rest of the battle.

“If only I were so lucky”, I grunt, suddenly more content with the damage I’ve sustained as I feel my Larraman’s cells neatly seal the wound beneath my armour. “What’s our status?”

“Fethed front, right, left and centre”, Kulah replies, as he tries to click another magazine into his Bolter with his remaining hand. “I think that sums it up nicely.”

“Eloquent as always, Sergeant. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one of those lying around?”, I ask, motioning to his Bolter.

“Lost yours again, Tariq? Perhaps you should chain it to your arm in the future”, he responds cheekily, his Bolter’s magazine finally locking into place.

“And perhaps you should chain your arm to your body next time.”

Without a word, he throws the Bolter to me, and I'm rather certain he was aiming at my face when he did.

“You better be as good with that Bolter as you are with your tongue, whelp”, he barks in response, drawing his Bolt pistol from its holster. Although I can’t see his features behind his helmet, I can tell he’s grinning widely.


++ Excerpt from A Brief History of the Second Legion, by Remembrancer Karolus Herodon; declared Excommunicate Traitoris ++

Spoiler:
In official reports, the Battle at Moses’ Passage lasted a full three days before reinforcements reached the Second’s position. By then, only a third of the original strike force remained, the others having been cut down either in the initial ambush or in the grinding war of attrition that followed. Said death toll, however, paled in comparison to the number of hostiles they had faced; thousands of enemy combatants and vehicles littered the battlefield, the dead and dying forming a great circle around the Second Legion’s wrecked convoy.

It would be the last act of defiance of the warlords in this sector. With their armies destroyed, they could not hope to last long against the Emperor’s inevitable retribution. Only a month later were Imperial banners raised over their toppled fortress-cities by none other than the survivors of the Second Legion’s initial strike force.

Of note are the actions of Aramis Léon, the first official Legion Master of the Second Legion. Despite suffering numerous injuries during the Battle at Moses’ Passage, including the loss of his right leg, he was quick to reorganize the surviving Legionnaires into a highly effective and mobile assault force. According to Imperial officers serving alongside the Second during this period, Léon guided his brethren in a particularly… vehement fashion against the enemies’ remaining holdings, their tactics revealing a shift towards assault-oriented deployments.

Said vehemence was most apparent in a new strategy that saw use throughout the rest of the conflict.

“It started inconspicuous enough. A few outposts of the Outer Ring went silent, which our commanders believed to be the opening stages of the Imperial’s march into our territory, and thus, no reason for concern.

Then an outlying fortress was hit. And another. And another. Fortified locations that should have withstood months-long sieges disappeared in smoke and fire before the sun had even fully risen above the horizon.

We could see them all the way from the Inner Ring, the thick black trails reaching up to the skies as those fortresses burned up like funeral pyres. Each day, another trail would form in the distance, slowly coming closer to the Inner Ring. We sent one of our last battlegroup down there, once, but they found nothing but ash and dust.

And yet the smoke came closer every day.

The men became restless. We didn’t speak of it, not even in the late hours when we huddled together around the campfire whilst the officers slept, but we knew.

We knew we could be next.

We knew we would be one day.

Then, one day, a day that started like every other day ever had... we were.

It began with a rumble in the distance, about an hour before the sun would rise. I remember it being barely audible over the wind.
The rumble rose in volume, slowly at first, drawing closer on us. By now, every guard on morning shift was on the walls looking for an enemy. All we could see was the mist and the sky.

If only we’d known. If only.

Five minutes before the sun would rise over the horizon, the rumble had turned into an avalanche, roaring towards us like a herd of bulls across the plains. Everyone in the base was on full alert and ready, officers were screaming orders and heavy weapons were locked into place.

We weren’t ready. None of us could be.

And then, in that split second, in that very last moment before the darkness would give way to the light, we saw it.

We saw them.

A wave of a hundreds black-clad giants, carrying blades and hammers the size of men, their weapons and armour glistening malevolently in the first pale rays of light that bled from the rising sun as they thundered through the morning fog.

A minute later, half of my comrades lay dead.”
- Anonymous testimony of a [ACCES RESTRICTED] soldier, of Fortress 2-71.


What truly transpired in those days is not entirely known, but the fact remains that after the last battle in the Nordafrik sector, the Second would be called by a different name.

No longer were they merely “the Second”.

From that day forward they were known as the Dawn Striders.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

First Captain Aramis Léon. If there ever was a man fit to lead a Legion, it was him. One could say that in the years before the coming of the Primarch, he was the Second Legion, in both body and mind.

From the very beginning it had been clear to all of us that Léon was born to be a leader, and everything he did after that point only served to prove that to us. Stoic and unyielding, he led us with a determination that bordered on insanity, driving us to a greatness only he could have achieved.

He was a giant among giants, literally and figuratively. At least a head larger than even the tallest among us -of whom the shortest was still taller than any other Astartes from the other Legions-, he dominated everything around him with his size alone. And then there was this aura that hung around him like a cloak, conveying strength and authority to all who looked upon him.

He never needed words or speeches to rally us to his side; the idea of serving alongside him was motivation enough for most of us. To watch him fight was to see a war-god from ancient myth descend from upon high to deliver judgement upon the unworthy, and to share in his glory was a privilege we would all lay our lives down for. Always on the front line, always pushing forwards and fighting on, never taking a step back. He was the one to imprint these ideals unto us, unto the Legion.

Under his command, the Legion was formed into an effective engine of war that cast all opposition aside as it thundered across the battlefield.

He truly was the greatest of us, an example each and every Legionnaire strove to emulate.

We all fell short in the end.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This message was edited 19 times. Last update was at 2018/03/09 13:05:44




Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in gb
Ultramarine Librarian with Freaky Familiar





Very nice, especially liking the little Remembrancer bit. Where did you get the artwork from at the top: it looks very professionally done?

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/11/09 16:46:54



They/them

 
   
Made in ie
Norn Queen






Dublin, Ireland

Very cool so far.

Dman137 wrote:
goobs is all you guys will ever be

By 1-irt: Still as long as Hissy keeps showing up this is one of the most entertaining threads ever.

"Feelin' goods, good enough". 
   
Made in us
Loyal Necron Lychguard





Working on it

I am thoroughly enjoying this, well written as always

<Dynasty> ~10500pts
War Coven of the Coruscating Gaze ~3000pts
Thrice-Damned Plague Corps ~3250pts
Admech (TBN) ~3500pts +30k Bots and Ulator

 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

Thanks for the comments, guys!

I'm currently working on a small piece about the Nordafrik Incident (not sure if I like that name, though), after which I'll turn my attentions on the Legion's Primarch and his homeworld. I'm still figuring out how I want to pace this story, so if things start off a little too slow or too fast, let me know

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
Very nice, especially liking the little Remembrancer bit. Where did you get the artwork from at the top: it looks very professionally done?


I wish I could tell you that I produced that wonderful Space Marine all by myself, but sadly that is not the case It's actually a Photoshopped Ultramarines Invictarii (Invictarius? Invictarus? My knowledge of Latin fails me) from one of the HH Red Books, with some extra details added in (such as the horns and the bull's head on his torso)



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in gb
Ultramarine Librarian with Freaky Familiar





Ezra Tyrius wrote:Thanks for the comments, guys!

I'm currently working on a small piece about the Nordafrik Incident (not sure if I like that name, though), after which I'll turn my attentions on the Legion's Primarch and his homeworld. I'm still figuring out how I want to pace this story, so if things start off a little too slow or too fast, let me know

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
Very nice, especially liking the little Remembrancer bit. Where did you get the artwork from at the top: it looks very professionally done?


I wish I could tell you that I produced that wonderful Space Marine all by myself, but sadly that is not the case It's actually a Photoshopped Ultramarines Invictarii (Invictarius? Invictarus? My knowledge of Latin fails me) from one of the HH Red Books, with some extra details added in (such as the horns and the bull's head on his torso)

Ah, I knew the helmet looked familiar! Either way, it looks very nice!

I think Nordafrik is a good name personally.


They/them

 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

Alright, Nordafrik it is then!

Uploaded a first piece about the Nordafrik Incident, which sees our protagonist wake up in a very bad dream...



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

Added another piece to the story about the Nordafrik Incident, this time taken from the Remembrancer's books again.

The Second shows its horns for the first time... and it is not pretty.


Also, on a slightly unrelated note; what do you guys think of the lay-out of the OP? I'm not sure if it's better to keep everything together in one place, or if I should just post each part separately...

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/11/20 23:11:33




Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in gb
Liberated Grot Land Raida






Northern Ireland

I say post seperately. Then I can see when you have something new and what the new part is as you go. Gives your topic a bump too when there's something new to see instead of replying on people to spot updates and comment.

You can update the OP in batches too every now and then to keep it all together if you like.

   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

Alright, I'll re-format the thread accordingly



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

Act II: A Place called Home

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++Excerpt from My travels, by Halicarne the Faithful++

At long last have I arrived in the Landusan Domain, the last safe haven before the endless depths of the Halo Stars. The journey has been long and arduous, for both the crew as for the ship itself, the latter having received substantial damage during our transit out of the Empyrean. Admiral Vasca has ensured me that all will be seen to before we depart for Holy Terra again, and I trust in his capacity to find a pleasing arrangement with the Landusan shipyards.

The shipyards – truly wonders of engineering and craftsmanship. I have not seen the like since my visit to the Saturnine Naval Fortresses. From a distance, the massive orbital station encircling Landusa itself appears as an ornate silver ring, the many docks and defences like elegant engravings on its surface, topped with a bright-coloured diamond-shaped structure that marks the location of the planets space elevator.

Only when one ventures closer to the station, however, does its true purpose reveal itself in earnest. Rows of orbital docks, of which no two are alike in shape or form, protrude from the central structure, lined with billions of lights that shine brightly against the cold backdrop of the void. It is often said among sailors that there is no ship too big or small for the shipyards of Landusa, and I am inclined to believe them. In the brief moments before we ourselves docked at the station, I have seen every vessel known to man, from humble cargo loader to gargantuan Ark Mechanicus.

But true spectacle lies beneath the station itself.

I was once told by a good acquaintance of mine that the grand city of Mayrit, the capital of Landusa and its domain, was second only to Holy Terra itself in majesty and splendour, and having laid eyes upon it myself, I can wholeheartedly confirm his claims.

The City of Lights, as it is often called by those who call it home, shines bright as a fierce star against the darkness of space. It is a gargantuan conglomeration of cream-coloured hab-blocks, palaces, temples, streets and squares, parks and avenues, that stretches out towards the horizon in all directions. Seen from above, the city appears as a maze of dazzling size and complexity, with tiny streets and alleys snaking their way through the urban jungle, lit by billions of tiny lumens.

Like many ancient cities, Mayrit has grown organically throughout the millennia, sprawling outwards in whichever way was convenient at the time. All attempts to bring some order or regularity into the city's expansion by the ruling class met with either failure or protest from the people, excluding those public works that required a uniform infrastructure, such as the great aquaducts that supply the city's wells, and the grand avenues that connect the furthest reaches of the city with its center.

Ultimately, Mayrit's size has always been held in check by its natural surroundings: the vast deserts to its north and northeast, and the planets central ocean to its south and west. This of course has led to significant problems with overpopulation and food shortages - but more on that later.

Even from afar, the capital's wealth - or should I say, that of the Ummayan Dynasty, its current masters - is evident. Especially the central quarter of the city, where the palaces of the various noble families lay, is testament to the power and influence the ancient Landusan bloodlines have accrued over the generations. Each residence here is an architectural masterpiece, decorated in its own, extravagant style, some of which bordering on pure decadence.

But all of these palaces pale in comparison to the city's true centrepiece: the Medina Azahara. Words fail to describe its magnificence. It is the culmination of millennia of royal ambition, given shape and form by artisans beyond count. If the Landusan civilization would ever come to an end, this would be its undying legacy. No other structure in this entire sub-sector captures the essence of the Landusan culture quite like this one does.

Much like the city that has grown around it, the Medina Azahara is a constellation of various parts. The complex, staggering in its size and complexity, is home to all branches of public life. Spread across the many tiers of the structure one can find markets and open squares, courtrooms and workplaces, among many others. The great halls that connect these disparate functions with one another are hives of constant, unceasing activity, the noise of which echoes perpetually in the halls' domed ceilings.

Far above the commotion of the lower floors, in the great spires that surround the Medina Azahara like the leaves of a crown, one can find the residences and workplaces of Mayrit's ruling class. It is here, in chambers of unimaginable luxury and wealth, that the future of the Landusan Domain is given shape. From their ivory towers, the Ummayan Dynasty decides the fate of its servants with strength and purpose, as so many others have done before them. Under their patronage, the Landusan Domain has risen to great heights, becoming a force to be reckoned with, both economically as militarily.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"The Ummayan Dynasty was nothing more than a group of liars, bastards and traitors, each of whom would sell out their own family in a heartbeat if it meant even the slightest amount of personal gain. They had claimed their position of power by killing those who stood in their way and stealing from those who couldn't fight back. They were tyrants in all but name.

If only they had been dealt with sooner..."


Spoiler:
This was a rather difficult piece to write! It's the first time I've tried to describe a planet in more detail, and it was a bit more challenging than I'd thought it'd be Still, I hope this piece gives some insight into the Second Legion's soon-to-be-homeworld



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
 
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