LogOS
Guest
alright, since i'll just get it wrong anyway, i'll ask:
what's the count?
what's the count?
-
Welcome to rpgcodex.net, a site dedicated to discussing computer based role-playing games in a free and open fashion. We're less strict than other forums, but please refer to the rules.
"This message is awaiting moderator approval": All new users must pass through our moderation queue before they will be able to post normally. Until your account has "passed" your posts will only be visible to yourself (and moderators) until they are approved. Give us a week to get around to approving / deleting / ignoring your mundane opinion on crap before hassling us about it. Once you have passed the moderation period (think of it as a test), you will be able to post normally, just like all the other retards.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
A wins. Eldar Imperial Guard regiment when?
+++
The tally:
A = 14
Baltika9
The Brazilian Slaughter
Oscar
Grimgravy
Azira
Hoothoot
the_biologist
trans_financial_man
Esquilax
Kipeci
asxetos
Lambchop19
MoistCloister
Kz3r0
The Brazilian Slaughter
Oscar
Grimgravy
Azira
Hoothoot
the_biologist
trans_financial_man
Esquilax
Kipeci
asxetos
Lambchop19
MoistCloister
Kz3r0
DarthRoxor
Jaedar
ItsChon
Baud
Lithium Flower
Nevill
Storyfag
rolandz_baton_PROD
Jaedar
ItsChon
Baud
Lithium Flower
Nevill
Storyfag
rolandz_baton_PROD
ERYFKRAD
Neanderthal
Kalin
Neanderthal
Kalin
+++
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2012
- Messages
- 29,854
Inb4 Sphere Diplomacy.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
Oh, come on. They'll be absolutely adorable!
How can you deny that cute face the chance to fight and die for the Imperium?
Kalin
Unwanted
Neanderthal
Arcane
The Emperor knew, the Emperor was wise, and now once again his sons will betray him by fawning over the Xenos.
No wonder he never loved his sons.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
The Emperor knew, the Emperor was wise, and now once again his sons will betray him by fawning over the Xenos.
No wonder he never loved his sons.
We'll see what the old man says after we set him up with Isha. I bet the reason he's so grumpy is that he has 10,000 years of blue balls.
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2012
- Messages
- 29,854
May you know the Emperor's Mercy.
We'll see what the old man says after we set him up with Isha. I bet the reason he's so grumpy is that he has 10,000 years of blue balls.
this is what communing with xenos leads to
DEVOUR SOUL!
LogOS
Guest
THE EMPRESS
“Ninety-nine”
The voice rings clear. He can feel the black blade pulsing in its scabbard, its first intelligible sentence in near a century. But this is business of the state, and Guilliman is Princeps Primaris. Bewitched swords are of little concern to political animals.
So, then, comes the Primarch to the Death’s Head Court, the graceless congregation of the undeserving living. Guilliman expects alien sophistry, but is met only with near-human nihilism. These creatures are no wiser or better than man; they have only lived longer to dwell on their failures. Colorful costumes contrast with the stoic, stilted, hopeless demeanor of the hosts. There’s no fae of legend to be found here: These are slavish worker ants impaling themselves on behalf of something they can never quite grasp. The soul and heart of the Eldar were devoured during the Fall and all that is left is the Path. Come meet the jaded aftermath, says the Death’s Head Court. Ynnead is called upon in half-tone chants, hushed and near-expecting It shall never manifest.
These are fanatics and irredeemable sinners, conceptually no different to the Eldar host. Things pass in a blur. Skull-faced jesters offer wit, insolence and refreshments. This is the End, they say, smirking and laughing and killing. Guilliman is light-headed. HHH HrehHe knows he is affected by eldar trickery, but knows is safe. Ssafe? However hated the mon-keigh are, there could never be an accord between the souled and the soulless, yes yes. The Eldar do not hold to their word, but they hold on tightly to their spirit.
“You attempt to drug me, Eldrad. I disapprove of this.”
“Would you act any different, O Imperator?”
“Yes.”
Eldrad turns his head to look at him, disbelief in his eyes. So far he has not yet understood he deals not with a creature of whims and desires, but with a stalwart of mankind, with duty manifest. Guilliman understands Eldrad is the Empire’s unsalutary option, the Byzantine Basileus to his Roman Republic, all eyes and castration. The alien has heard of the Fall of Empire, but has never grasped the Rise. To the alien, the Res Publica is mon-keigh folly, a composite insult.
To Guilliman, it is everything.
“Have you ever heard about Cincinnatus, Eldrad Ulthran of Ulthwe?”
“No.”
“Indeed.”
After the great feast, the potentates of both races are gathered in an intimate chamber. Guilliman and his Equerry, the Victrix Guard and the Inquisitorial Legate. Opposite them, Eldrad and Yvraine, and the Webseer Council.
“Destroy them for their betrayal.’’
The Primarch hardly blinks before stomping across the obfuscatingly opulent hall, exaggerating his exaggerated gait: He knows what these frail creatures expect of a titan of men, and acts accordingly. He comes to a halt before Yvraine, and eyes the repulsive alien in a measuring stare.
“They expect you to be my bride.”
Yvraine bows and nods, the glint on her black-on-white eyes betraying her anticipation.
“I am reminded of Actium and the consequences thereof.”
Yvraine’s expression has barely enough time to turn into a frown before Guilliman enunciates, as tender as a giant can:
“Mark me, aliens. You inherited this galaxy ten thousand centuries before us, and brought it up to dust. You are welcomed to the fold because you hate what is in front, not because you love what has been left behind. Your civilization was a rot, and well-deserving of the caress of Slaanesh.”
A collective gasp. The devourer’s name is hardly welcome here.
“Do not think I accept this alliance out of sympathy: I accept it out of pity. The time has come to redeem the loathsome sin you inflicted upon the galaxy. You ask for a junction of fates, and this I allow. But know that if you should ever turn on us, if you should show even the merest sign of deceit, I shall make sure to hunt you down to the ends of living space and offer you up to the demon god I abhor. Know that wherever you hide, however much Man is weakened, we shall have enough strength to find your every world and consign it to hell. Know that, if nothing else, the God-Emperor taught us our hate is bottomless.”
He pauses, sensing the anticipation of the sheathed sword, and continues.
“This I swear upon Konor and Ultramar and all graves therein.”
There is silence. Guilliman considers his position, and knows himself to be true. Though Yvraine and the Techpriest have brought him back, he owes them nothing: He is the son of an atheist god, Lord Commander of an Imperium that speaks a thousand languages, bears witness to a thousand revelations. Roboute Guilliman, son of Konor, wished to be Consul. Circumstances demanded he become Dictator.
A part of Guilliman hopes the Eldar shall rise up and challenge him, take umbrage at his words. But he is the tactically-minded son, the heir to Ultramar and the Imperium. The strategies of men and gods are his fodder and sustenance. He faces no foes here.
Yvraine comes to him later, as the Thirteenth stands in a colonnaded balcony, gazing upon the depthless void of the Webway.
“You humiliated me and my people.”
“Yes.”
“Was it necessary?”
“Yes.”
The matter-of-fact tone takes Yvraine aback; Guilliman does not boast, is not ecstatic that he has brought an alien race to heel. Melancholy and hopelessness pervade him. He knows he has been defeated twice before. He does not truly expect to survive a third time.
“Eldrad says we are to take you at your word. That you are…only human. Tell me, Roboute, what is it you hope to achieve?”
The armoured giant turns to look at the soiled executrix.
“Respite.”
The Eldar are now part of a new galactic order with The XIII Primarch at its head. Seers both alien and imperial proclaim disaster to be close, upon a world named Vigilus. What will the Primarch do to prepare for it?
1) The Emperor’s Black Blade now speaks. There is much the Primarch can learn from it, should he heed it.
2) Eldrad has offered psychic training before, and offers it again: Though Eldar, he is unparalleled in such arts, and guarantees there is great potential in The Thirteenth.
3) Cawl has made many a mention of a second expedition to the Hexarchion Vaults and the secrets buried therein, unclaimed even by Arkhan Land. What better time to explore?
“Ninety-nine”
The voice rings clear. He can feel the black blade pulsing in its scabbard, its first intelligible sentence in near a century. But this is business of the state, and Guilliman is Princeps Primaris. Bewitched swords are of little concern to political animals.
So, then, comes the Primarch to the Death’s Head Court, the graceless congregation of the undeserving living. Guilliman expects alien sophistry, but is met only with near-human nihilism. These creatures are no wiser or better than man; they have only lived longer to dwell on their failures. Colorful costumes contrast with the stoic, stilted, hopeless demeanor of the hosts. There’s no fae of legend to be found here: These are slavish worker ants impaling themselves on behalf of something they can never quite grasp. The soul and heart of the Eldar were devoured during the Fall and all that is left is the Path. Come meet the jaded aftermath, says the Death’s Head Court. Ynnead is called upon in half-tone chants, hushed and near-expecting It shall never manifest.
These are fanatics and irredeemable sinners, conceptually no different to the Eldar host. Things pass in a blur. Skull-faced jesters offer wit, insolence and refreshments. This is the End, they say, smirking and laughing and killing. Guilliman is light-headed. HHH HrehHe knows he is affected by eldar trickery, but knows is safe. Ssafe? However hated the mon-keigh are, there could never be an accord between the souled and the soulless, yes yes. The Eldar do not hold to their word, but they hold on tightly to their spirit.
“You attempt to drug me, Eldrad. I disapprove of this.”
“Would you act any different, O Imperator?”
“Yes.”
Eldrad turns his head to look at him, disbelief in his eyes. So far he has not yet understood he deals not with a creature of whims and desires, but with a stalwart of mankind, with duty manifest. Guilliman understands Eldrad is the Empire’s unsalutary option, the Byzantine Basileus to his Roman Republic, all eyes and castration. The alien has heard of the Fall of Empire, but has never grasped the Rise. To the alien, the Res Publica is mon-keigh folly, a composite insult.
To Guilliman, it is everything.
“Have you ever heard about Cincinnatus, Eldrad Ulthran of Ulthwe?”
“No.”
“Indeed.”
After the great feast, the potentates of both races are gathered in an intimate chamber. Guilliman and his Equerry, the Victrix Guard and the Inquisitorial Legate. Opposite them, Eldrad and Yvraine, and the Webseer Council.
“Destroy them for their betrayal.’’
The Primarch hardly blinks before stomping across the obfuscatingly opulent hall, exaggerating his exaggerated gait: He knows what these frail creatures expect of a titan of men, and acts accordingly. He comes to a halt before Yvraine, and eyes the repulsive alien in a measuring stare.
“They expect you to be my bride.”
Yvraine bows and nods, the glint on her black-on-white eyes betraying her anticipation.
“I am reminded of Actium and the consequences thereof.”
Yvraine’s expression has barely enough time to turn into a frown before Guilliman enunciates, as tender as a giant can:
“Mark me, aliens. You inherited this galaxy ten thousand centuries before us, and brought it up to dust. You are welcomed to the fold because you hate what is in front, not because you love what has been left behind. Your civilization was a rot, and well-deserving of the caress of Slaanesh.”
A collective gasp. The devourer’s name is hardly welcome here.
“Do not think I accept this alliance out of sympathy: I accept it out of pity. The time has come to redeem the loathsome sin you inflicted upon the galaxy. You ask for a junction of fates, and this I allow. But know that if you should ever turn on us, if you should show even the merest sign of deceit, I shall make sure to hunt you down to the ends of living space and offer you up to the demon god I abhor. Know that wherever you hide, however much Man is weakened, we shall have enough strength to find your every world and consign it to hell. Know that, if nothing else, the God-Emperor taught us our hate is bottomless.”
He pauses, sensing the anticipation of the sheathed sword, and continues.
“This I swear upon Konor and Ultramar and all graves therein.”
There is silence. Guilliman considers his position, and knows himself to be true. Though Yvraine and the Techpriest have brought him back, he owes them nothing: He is the son of an atheist god, Lord Commander of an Imperium that speaks a thousand languages, bears witness to a thousand revelations. Roboute Guilliman, son of Konor, wished to be Consul. Circumstances demanded he become Dictator.
A part of Guilliman hopes the Eldar shall rise up and challenge him, take umbrage at his words. But he is the tactically-minded son, the heir to Ultramar and the Imperium. The strategies of men and gods are his fodder and sustenance. He faces no foes here.
Yvraine comes to him later, as the Thirteenth stands in a colonnaded balcony, gazing upon the depthless void of the Webway.
“You humiliated me and my people.”
“Yes.”
“Was it necessary?”
“Yes.”
The matter-of-fact tone takes Yvraine aback; Guilliman does not boast, is not ecstatic that he has brought an alien race to heel. Melancholy and hopelessness pervade him. He knows he has been defeated twice before. He does not truly expect to survive a third time.
“Eldrad says we are to take you at your word. That you are…only human. Tell me, Roboute, what is it you hope to achieve?”
The armoured giant turns to look at the soiled executrix.
“Respite.”
The Eldar are now part of a new galactic order with The XIII Primarch at its head. Seers both alien and imperial proclaim disaster to be close, upon a world named Vigilus. What will the Primarch do to prepare for it?
1) The Emperor’s Black Blade now speaks. There is much the Primarch can learn from it, should he heed it.
2) Eldrad has offered psychic training before, and offers it again: Though Eldar, he is unparalleled in such arts, and guarantees there is great potential in The Thirteenth.
3) Cawl has made many a mention of a second expedition to the Hexarchion Vaults and the secrets buried therein, unclaimed even by Arkhan Land. What better time to explore?
Last edited by a moderator:
LogOS
Guest
Since i can't brofist, i will add that that is what the narration was referring to: Guilliman was shamefully beat up by Fulgrim and Magnus (twice defeated), and only somewhat evened out with Mortarion. So that's his current line of thinking.
Though not necessarily the psychic alternative is the best one, obviously. He's just hurting from his clear inferiority to Warpforged foes.
Mine own aside: This is one of the few points that i unequivocally enjoy in Black Library lore, which is Daemon Primarchs raping their materium foes. i always thought it was iffy that loyalist primarchs could go toe-to-toe with daemon-empowered rape machines (see Sanguinius, Vulkan and Corax), and I quite enjoy that guilliman failed when he tried. For all of his power, he is only, aha, human.
Sheev
Novice
1) While you were fighting Traitor Primarchs, I studied the Blade!
the_biologist
Novice
- Joined
- Mar 5, 2019
- Messages
- 9
Build strength upon strength. Explore the Vaults. Let the Eldar do their mind tricks if we need them.
3
3
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
1 may make gullible man vulnerable to the emperor, while 2 might make him vulnerable to the eldar. Still there is much value in 2 but because of the risk I can't quite decide between 2 and 3.
here's what 2 leads to
go 3 and let's find the amber room
go 3 and let's find the amber room
Kalin
Unwanted
1
rolandz_Baton_PROD
Learned
3
As an Amazon Associate, rpgcodex.net earns from qualifying purchases.