>>45396744
Ultimately you decide you don't feel like reminiscing, and levitate a more interesting book to your bosom. Fluffy yawns in your lap, the fireplace is still going strong, and next week you've foreseen a Ravenwing detachment misled here by Cypher. The git keeps pawning you off and he gives nothing back.

~*~fin~*~

>>45396744
>[3] You were once a regular Prosperine Legionnaire, who developed Psyker powers not long before the sacking of Prospero.

With my eldritch powers, I breath new life into this quest!

Let's see if it works.

The idea tickles me. An ancient sorcerer of the Thousand Sons that never signed up for that 'Chaos' bullshit, just wants to study the deeper secrets of the universe and do his research in peace.

>>45396744
>[1] You were one of the original thousand, saved by Magnus

Lurking...

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>45398624
>>45398618
Your is an interesting tome and all, but you feel like reminiscing after all...

>>45399526

IT IS ALIVE!

>>45399526
Whooo back on track baby!

>>45399526
As you absentmindedly read your book, you recall those early days of your ascension to trans-humanity, when the Legion's perpetual size issues mandated any capable youths undergo the trials. All throughout your initiation, your lack of psychic powers was a cause of derision from peers and superiors. Just as the Legion was the target of fearful scorn from the outside, you were overlooked and all but despised from within, forced in battle to perform bodyguard duties to the same sorcerers who treated you as a lesser being.

It was a cruel twist of fate that your latent psychic might emerged nine days after Magnus left for Nikaea. Joy, sadness, anger... All a blur of memories and sensations, to a backdrop of mind-breaking, soul-crushing study in a desperate attempt to make up for the time spent as a psychic non-entity. Iron will and your geneseed's gift rewarded you: by the time the Wolves of Fenris were unleashed upon Prospero, you were only less a sorcerer than greats like Ahriman, and a finer warrior than any.

You cast your glance to the Force Kopesh and Twin-Linked Bolter, your greatest companions as you slaughtered Sister of Silence from afar, and Space Wolf toe-to-toe. You laugh quietly to yourself, remembering your finest hour...

>[1]An entire squadron of Sisters of Silence mowed down by your shots, as they marched in line through rubble
>[2]A haughty champion of Fenris, felled by a single swing of your kopesh after boasting of his deeds
>[3]A Warhound Titan brought low by your psychic trickery

>>45400184
>[2]A haughty champion of Fenris, felled by a single swing of your kopesh after boasting of his deeds

I'm imagining a 10 minute monologue about his battle honours and victories won ... then we slice his face off in a single move like that scene from Equilibrium.

>>45400184
>[2]

>>45400184
>>[2]A haughty champion of Fenris, felled by a single swing of your kopesh after boasting of his deeds
suffer not the fucking furfag to live

>>45400184
Ah, Frostulf Grimolfsson.. Clad in the pelts of mutated Fenrisians, covered in meaningless charms, the heads of five sergeants felled in glorious single combat tied by their hairs to his belt, and not a dent in his armor. Shouting aloud his past deeds; the titanic Xenos he fell, the vanguard actions he undertook, the maidens he swooned, sparing his lecherous gaze towards the women ensuring a burst of psychic fire didn't singe shut his yapping throat. Obnoxious though he was, the Space Wolves around him fought hardest, emboldened by his words and following behind his blood trail.

As he approached your position, bereft of helmet and backed by two squads' worth of lackeys, you fought the urge to give in to his taunts, waiting for the right moment to strike... And as he gazed lustfully upon one of those accursed soulless abominations hampering your brothers' gifts, you saw an opening and leaped out of cover, slicing and severing his head at the jaw. The sight of dozens of Space Wolves, petrified as their pack alpha's skull plopped down on the floor separated from its body producing guttural sounds and wagging its tongue in only a slightly less articulate manner will stay with you forever; so will the knowledge of when to strike first, and so strike last.

Some would call this "alpha strike" treacherous, dishonorable. You keep your peace, and keep note of the many times throughout the day these fools would already be dead.

Alas, that was ultimately a minor victory against a tide of murder and destruction, made worse by your gene-sire's unwillingness to join the battle until defeat was assured. Beloved Prospero was torn apart, and the Legion was claimed by the Changer of Ways, source of power and weakness, glory and disgrace.

>cont

>>45401303

Of course, to remain a changer of ways, one must change the status quo endlessly, and your own allegiances remained in flux. What tipped you over the edge was...

>[1] The Rubric of Ahriman transforming your closest non-psychic comrade into a mindless automaton
>[2] Witnessing the savage ways of the other Traitor Legions
>[3] An ignorant Imperial citizen mistaking your troupe of Rubric Marines for the saviors he prayed for

>>45401327
>[2] Witnessing the savage ways of the other Traitor Legions
Some were no better than the pillaging Wolves I despised

>>45401327
>>[1] The Rubric of Ahriman transforming your closest non-psychic comrade into a mindless automaton

>>45401327

>>45401327
>[2] Witnessing the savage ways of the other Traitor Legions

>>45401327
>[2] Witnessing the savage ways of the other Traitor Legions

We spent years crusading to unite and free humanity from xenos and monsters. We may have fallen out with the Imperium, but ... fuck man. Too far.

>>45401327
It was not without resentment at the Imperium that forsook your brethren that you joined the Horus Heresy, along with the other duped Thousand Sons. It made the atrocities bearable, if not palatable, at first. But not so deep down, you knew it to be a cynical, hypocritical rationalization. Ahriman's Rubric, as heartbreaking and revolting as it was, could be excused as a final, desperate effort to save the Legion, and it was but the last brick of a road paved with good intentions leading to damnation. What you never managed to overlook was the barbarism you witnessed and ultimately enabled. Willing slaves to the Warp, and by extension the most base desires of humanity; sadists who couldn't tell whether terror was a means or an end; glazed sociopaths, stunted by their Primarch's own hand; and worst of all, the Sons of Horus, following the one whom all glory and trust was heaped upon, repaid by turning upon his Emperor. Of all the terrible, disgusting deeds you witnessed during the Great Crusade, nothing compared to the depravity of the Traitor Legions.

And one day, you had enough. It didn't matter you were the lone member of your legion in the deck of the Stormbird, outnumbered many to one. It didn't matter that, logically speaking, you had no chance to overcome so many enemies. Seeing the possessed, the insane, the psychotic anticipating yet another massacre made an eternity of suffering in death seem like a good alternative. You remember it vividly, how you grasped the bald, inscription-riddled head of a Word Bearer chanting praises to every misbegotten warp spawn he could name, and silenced his outraged surprise with psychic flame. How you brought them all low with a wave of telekinetic force, and showered them with bolt fire. And especially how the commotion of battle destroyed the Stormbird from within, and crashed miles away from its intended landing zone.

>cont

>>45402952

You try your best to forgot how a World Eater nearly crushed your neck with his bare hands, and how the ship's nosedive coming to an abrupt halt ultimately saved you, but your eidetic memory has conspired against you for millennia in this regard. Fortunately, you also remember the tactical doctrines of each Traitor Legion, and how to best lay them low.

You survived, even if the planet your former allies were torching did not. Transfixed in horror as you were, witnessing Hive spires come crashing down beneath the titanic shots of a Daemon-possessed Imperator, you only noticed the Eldar around you when you were surrounded. You...

>[1] Stood your ground, and tried to negotiate. If they wanted you dead, they had their chance
>[2] Told them to finish you off, disgusted by the creature you and your Legion had become
>[3] Resolved to slaughter the Xenos, as was once your duty

>>45402952
>>45402991
You glance at the Narrator, that strange warp entity fond of tripcode dropping, with a heavy-lidded expression. He has one job...

>>45402991
>[1] Stood your ground, and tried to negotiate. If they wanted you dead, they had their chance

You clearly want something, or you'd have sniped me by now. Talk.

>>45402991
>[2] Told them to finish you off, disgusted by the creature you and your Legion had become

>>45402991
>>[1] Stood your ground, and tried to negotiate. If they wanted you dead, they had their chance

>>45402991
>>[2] Told them to finish you off, disgusted by the creature you and your Legion had become
So we're another "Confessions of a wayward Son"? I'm cool with that.

>>45402991
>>[1] Stood your ground, and tried to negotiate. If they wanted you dead, they had their chance
The Changer of Ways has already corrupted my Father, my Brothers. What do you want Xeno but know if you mean to simply put me down I will not make it easy for you.

>>45402991
>[2] Told them to finish you off, disgusted by the creature you and your Legion had become
End it.

>>45402991
>>[1] Stood your ground, and tried to negotiate. If they wanted you dead, they had their chance
>>[2] Told them to finish you off, disgusted by the creature you and your Legion had become
If you want to finish this so be it, but I will not fall into the abyss silently I will do what any truly good brother and son would do, put down the monsters my kin have become.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>45403113
>>45403262
>>45403481
>>45403561
>>45403633
>>45403641
Though you were only too willing to embrace your demise, survival was still hard-coded into your psyche. In the end, you...

>>45403985
>fucking tripcode typos...

The memory's still fresh in your memories. Fluffy looks up, yowling in concern for your emotional state. You run your hand along its back, a reassuring gesture to the both of you.

"You've come to toy with me before killing me off? So be it. You can stare and do nothing while I kill as many of them; then, when I can kill no longer and I'm dragged for torture, questioning or sacrifice.. or all at once, kill me and vanish like the feckless ghosts you are."

"We refuse." The Xenos, clad in the dark robes of Ulthwé, and flanked by a troupe of Harlequins, spoke for his group.

You turned your gaze away from the battle, staring hatefully at the willowy thing fashioned in mockery of Mankind. "Too good to kill me are you?" You drew your pistol, aiming at the Xenos. "Then I'll force you to reconsider!" The creatures didn't react, even as you fired bolt after bolt over their shoulders. "Come on, slay me!", you shouted, giving in to the long-mounting frustration of unfulfilled expectations. You didn't notice your magazine was empty until the ninth press of the trigger, and you would've fallen to your knees in despair had it not been for your armor's joints locking up and sparing you the indignity. Yet another cruel prank of the most cruel of pranksters.

"We are not sparing you out of pity, mercy or a twisted sense of humor, mon'keigh. I have foreseen you will play a part in our Craftworld's survival, one day." What you assumed to be the Farseer, correctly, spoke.

"Saving Xenos... Not a cruel joke, you say?" You laughed mirthlessly. For once, the creature reacted, walking up to you and staring straight in your visor.

"You think we enjoy this any more than you? This 'prank' is on you as much as it is on us. Believe me when I say we've all but overstretched our restraint with sparing one of your wretched, soulless kind. We need you, that is all."
>cont

>>45404899
One of the Harlequins, the most gaudily clad of all, laughed out loud at your exchange. It was a timely intervention, as you were just about to take your "persuasion" to a lethal form.

"Eldrad, this one is mine." She walked up to you with unearthly grace. Your armor's visual feedback flickered trying to make sense of his outfit in motion. "I am Siofa, leader of my Troupe." If the creature's words had unsettled you, her elaborate bow delivered the final blow. For a moment you paid no heed to the sounds of a planet being torn apart. Instinctively, you recoiled, all too aware of the deadly price of a wavering focus. You pawed at your sword, finding it missing. "You wanted this?" The female asked, laughing mirthfully and holding up your kopesh.

"Khamneth of the Thousand Sons, you are not merely ensuring the survival of a hated foe; the Immaterium is an enemy to all that dwell upon this dimension. It is our common foe, as are them." You were immediately reminded of the circumstances of your encounter.

A hard sell you may have been, but ultimately the Xenos' promises of long term vengeance drove you from commiting tactical suicide there and then. Many deeds you performed alongside Siofa's troupe, laying low the Traitors in battles unsung by any not counted among Cegorath's devout. In the end you parted ways, as amicably as an Astartes and a Harlequin can at any rate.

And then you heard a rasp at your door, and you were brought back to the present. Whatever game the Eldar and Tzeentch were playing, you have not yet played your role, knowingly anyway.

You pondered what to do, it was rare that you had visitors, rarer still that they were polite enough to knock instead of sneaking in uninvited or barging in, guns blazing.

>[1] Answer the door like a normal transhuman killing machine
>[2] Remain silent. This is an abandoned cottage from the outside, after all
>[3] Shout that you're not at home.

>>45406018
>[1] Answer the door like a normal transhuman killing machine
Did the grox-stake arrived yet?

>>45406018
>[1] Answer the door like a normal transhuman killing machine
Khopesh at the ready, if its eldrad go for the kill. Siofa gets cookies.

>>45406018
>[1] Answer the door like a normal transhuman killing machine

File: 1429906994068.jpg (28 KB, 472x443)

28 KB JPG

>>45406018
>>[3] Shout that you're not at home.
They will never expect it

File: Lord_Cypher.jpg (129 KB, 739x1023)

129 KB JPG

>>45406018
Since whomever was on the other side was civil enough to knock at the door, you figure, against your better judgement, that you can reciprocate. Reluctantly, you push your lap gyrinx away, the xenos creature inflicting a psychic guilt trip as you do. He figured that was a more effective means than biting your ceramite armor the first time around; it was a good thing Biomancy was well within your domain. Just in case, you levitate your trusty kopesh off its rack and to your hand.

The possibilities race across your head as you make for the door. The Grey Knights would just barge in guns blazing, and you'd have scryed an exterminatus attempt if it came to that. The Alpha Legion should know better than to interact with you, their last two retaliatory actions ended in tears; theirs. Siofa would just appear in front of you, and any Craftworld liaison would contact you telepathically. That leaves lost farmers' children, tone-deaf tithe collectors, the Mechanicus prometheum people and-

"Hello Khamneth." The smug, condescending tone. The pistols hanging at his waist. The cowl over a suit of power armor freshly repainted. It was Cypher.

The figure jumped away, fast as lightning as you chopped overhead. "As irritable as always!"

"The last time we met, you left me to die at the hands of your Legion's brethren!" The screams of Repent! Repent! and the frantic casting of force barriers on the move will haunt your dreams forever."Your visit was foreseen NEXT week!"

"And I'm sure you'll be pleased to know your valiant efforts ensured that an entire sector was spared Nurgle's attentions." You could've achieved that same objective if you kept the tome pillaged from the Death Guard to yourself and escaped the Deathwing's attentions in a timely manner. You're sure of that.

You stare expectantly at the Fallen Angel, receiving his coy grin as a reply. "Won't you invite me in?" He says finally.

>[1] Let him in.
>[2] You resent him too much for that.

>>45407213
>[2] You resent him too much for that.
if he wants hospitality then he should not have left us for dead or worse at the hands of asmodai

>>45407213
Would you invite my kopesh inside your ass?

>>45407213
>>[1] Let him in.

>>45407213
>[2] You resent him too much for that.


Fallen Angel? Never heard of them. Think that the Blood Angels would know anything anout them? After, all they are the only legion with no traitors. None at all.

>>45407213
>>[1] Let him in.
Be a grumpy old man about it

>>45407213
>>[1] Let him in.
You better have the tea... You know the kind!

>>45407213
>[1] Let him in.

>>45407213
>1
I would offer you a chair but..you know

>>45407213
It is so tempting to let the inconsiderate weasel in front of you watch his own paint dry at your door. Alas, were he not a charming, conniving bastard he wouldn't have been as successful in... whatever it is he does, you don't know and you've made a point of not knowing out of your hard-earned survival instinct. "Come in..." You walk inside your cottage, giving the other Astartes room.

He regards the inside of your dwelling appraisingly. "Incredible. Your abandoned shack is a veritable cabin worthy of ancient Terra from the inside. How exactly did you manage this sorcery?" The inflection in that last word gave no doubt as to its true meaning. "The outside is a visual illusion. Much of what you see inside is sustained by psychic constructs as well." You wave at the candles casting a warm glow well beyond their normal capacity. "The structure is wood, but its appearance is enhanced by these light sources."

"Very impressive... Do you have something to drink? Or is that tea pot a construct as well?"

"It's not.." You leave it at that as you place your sword in its rack.

"Well, aren't you going to offer your guest-"

"Get to the point." You cut him off, growing ever more irritated by Cypher's non-chalant quips.

"As you wish. A plague is affecting this planet's crops." His demeanor changed dramatically, there was no hint of sarcastic humor to him.

"Something to do with the tome you procured?"

"Not directly, but it will play a part. I have to ask your assistance in this matter. After all, you'd find your neighbors' contagion and subsequent Exterminatus to disrupt your peaceful life, wouldn't you?"

"Defending Mankind as far as my circumstances permit needs no spur."

"And yet here you are, content with slaying Inquisitors who stray too close to the haunted shack in the woods, raising Gyrinx and building up a library of the Occult." That smug tone again...

"I am one drop in a sea of Humanity. There is little I can do by my lonesome."

>cont

>>45408475
"Is that what you tell yourself?" His tone grows arctic cold. "Or is it that you're aware of your own genetic damnation, and it petrifies you? That you believe inaction will prevent your part in a scheme not even your divinations can foretell? Or maybe I'm wrong, and you've grown fond of your Xenos wench guiding you by hand-"

"Enough." You won't take this abuse, not from this scum, chasen to the depths of the Warp by crimes against his Legion. "You've come to warn me of a taint in the world I sought refuge at, so you're entitled a modicum of consideration. Don't burn it away in these ill-advised jibes." Part of you wishes he'd continue, so you might justify incinerating him.

"Understood. My apologies." Cypher's tone was too flat to be considered sincere or otherwise. "I will leave you with this bit of intel then: the food tithe after the next will infect the entire sector, and so will the next if you don't root out the cult within the capital. I can lure my Legion to this place, but that is an extreme measure... And one that would warrant artificially inflating the cult's manpower." A truly Machiavellian individual, as always. "I'm sure you wouldn't want that." And once again, smugness danced upon his casual smile.

"Hunt the cultists, prevent the tithe delivery."

"Indeed. Try to avoid punitive measures from the Administratum if you can."

"And you try not to make another sub-sector descend into thralldom for the Empyrean powers as your first choice." You quip back, deriving some satisfaction from watching his grin vanish.

"I've given you my warning, now I must leave." A knife materializes in his belt, a C'tan Phase Knife. "Goodbye, Khamneth. May we meet each other again, ancient sorcerer." He opens a transdimensional wedge, causing your candles to give out and bathe the inside of your cabin in the portal's eerie green glow for a moment, before he leaves to wherever his self-appointed task takes him.

You forgot how dark your cabin was without candles

Well, it's almost 4AM here, so I'll go to bed. Hope everyone enjoyed this so far.

https://twitter.com/1KSonsQuest

I'll tweet whenever I continue, possibly every saturday as circumstance dictates.

This is pretty good have you considered Pre writing some things it helps increase posting speed.

Enjoyed it as well, see you next time

That was dandy