Tuesday, September 2

Dark Beginnings - Prospero

A brilliant blue flash engulfed the horizon, blinding all combatants, dazing even the mightiest of Astartes who were fighting on Prospero's surface.  When Urläg squinted up, his opponents were gone, the Thousand Sons had simply vanished.  He spat, clearing his mouth of the blood that had accumulated there.  The ornate grey terminator armor had been covered in the blood of his adversaries, his chainaxe slick with gore.  His desire for bloodshed had grown to exceed those of his typically savage Space Wolf brothers.  Urläg roared in anger, furious that this great contest of strength had abruptly come to an end with the cowardly use of sorcery by the traitor legion. 

The massive spires were ablaze, gleaming white structures that housed relics and tomes of untold power - all put to the torch.  Urläg could not begin to comprehend what had just happened, or what damages had been caused that could never be undone.  It was none of his concern.  He had been tasked, as had the rest of the legion, to exact a decisive blow to the Thousand Sons on Prospero.  Leman Russ himself led the attack.  Urläg Blackfang and his elite cadre had witnessed their Primarch battling the traitor Magnus the Red, a struggle of titans, a worthy battle.  Magnus, too, had mysteriously vanished in the blast. There was a moment of silence and confusion that lingered, some foul sorcery had been used against them and honorable combat could not be joined.

The Space Wolf Legion assaults Prospero

"Regroup on me." came the calm-yet-fierce command from the bloodied Wolf Guard leader.  Urläg needed to prepare his squads for departure, their task had been completed, albeit to a standard he did not enjoy.  He didn't waste a moment surveying the field.  "Hrodir, make best speed to our position, you've been inside far too long."

"I'm already on the way, but there is so much to be learned if we stay.  Surely the knowledge of our enemy can--" the Rune Priest was suddenly cut off by Urläg's sharp response, "No, and hurry, the entire complex is about to collapse.  You may return with the survey crews if the Primarch wishes it, but I don't think your runes could predict even that decision."

Hrodir, alone, nodded in silent agreement to Urläg's command, deep in the darkened vaults of one of the many libraries on Prospero's surface.  The sole defender of these artifacts had vanished only moments before, a crimson-clad space marine, his weapons clattering to the floor as his body was ripped through the Immaterium.  Hrodir gathered up the few scrolls he had managed to reclaim, and turned to exit the great chamber, finally noticing the wicked staff laying between himself and the vault's portal.  His mind raced, thinking of the previous day, to him casting his runes for a portent or omen of good fortune, of the uncertain future.  The stones had fallen in such a way to suggest great upheaval of power, of great battles, deception, and change.  Change.

Whispers. Hundreds of languages, voices of all vocal ranges quietly murmuring at a frantic pace.  They came to an abrupt stop as soon as his fingers touched it.  Hrodir's grasp on the haft tightened, lifting the staff.  The silence was deafening, he understood now.

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[More to come]