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This is just some story I conjured in my desperation of waiting of an Iron Warrior Heresy Novel. Hope you heretics like it!:victory:
Iron Soul
The Finding
A pale and broad figure looked from his throne onto the decks of his ship with cold blue eyes. A stare that would send a normal man trembling. This was the primarch of the fourth legion. A cold hearted form of a once great man. Perturabo had been staring at the decks of his ship for several days now. This was not an abnormal thing of the Primarch of the fourth legion to do. Those within the Spear of Iron knew not to bother him while he was in his thoughts. Not in fear that they should suffer his wrath, but of the look in his unemotional face. A face without a slight hint of any emotion.
Though he kept most primarchs at a distance, they also kept a distance from him as well. No primarch could understand this primarch. There was no brotherly hug or sign of love with his other brothers, except for Horus and Dorn. And even they would always be the ones to walk up to him with the embrace. The Primarch of the fourth legion was cold, but also considerably the most professional of all the primarchs. Unlike Fulgrim who burried himself with glorious trophies or Leman Russ who covered himself in the skins of dead animals. Like him, his legion was a perfect imbodyment of their Primarch. Of all the legions, they were regarded as a robotic legion acting under one mind. Unlike the World Eaters who would charge into the fray without orders, the Iron Warriors were cold hearted bodies that would unleash a fury like no other when the logistics were in place, and then and only then would the unstoppable tide of Iron be unleashed... once unleashed... it would only end once those logistics were in placed, or when told to stop by non other than the primarch of the Iron Warriors himself. Astartes of other Legions would stop for mere moments to try and see what drove these emotionless robots. To comprehend these murderers would to understand pure madness. Unlike the savagery of the Luna Wolves or the Wolves of Fenris that fueled their rage from their animalistic instincts, or the firey rage of the Salamanders, or even the rage that fueled the anger of the Blood Angels and the World Eaters, the Iron Warriors had rage that sparked no emotion. The Iron Warriors were the embodyment of true cold rage. Though astartes were known to know no fear, there were rumors that astartes would often have shivers up their spines at the mere sight of these cold hearted and ruthless murderers in the act. Perhaps not fear, but the mere inability to understand such rage.
"Dorn has arrived." The crew all shuddered and looked upon the great figure who had just spoken. Tears running down most of their eyes as though they had just seen a god. "As you're calculations have always proven, you are right," said a warrior in bulky terminator armor. Helous the Warsmith of the First Grand Company had retained his position for so many years even before the discovery of Horus. Perturabo had admired this Warsmith's grand talent and had given him a title that would change that name... "The Warsmith." It was a name befitting of the most loyal commander in his legion. Perturabo had somewhat distrusted most members of his legion. He hated the fact that he could not read his warriors expressions. The distrust had run throughout his entire legion, and was not uncommon. Though his warriors tended to ignore that distrust by knowing that any orders given, were given by the almighty Perturabo. And above all, he could be trusted. The Phalanx boarded the Spear of Iron. A large figure clad in golden armor walked aboard the Spear of Iron along with a retinue of terminators. Perturabo was walking along the corridor with Helous and one of his captains of his grand company who was also claded in the silver and gold terminator armor. His name Captain Forrix. "Dorn... how did I know you would be the one to come to my ship at such a time?" Said Perturabo in a very obscure way. "Brother... you know why. Horus is Warmaster now, and he needs you beside him during this time. He fears you still hate him."
Perturabo turned his head and starred at the ships deck for few moments. "Come with me Dorn, this discussion shall be talked about elsewhere." As a sign of respect, Perturabo accepted his brother embrace and they walked away to the grand primarch's chambers. "Honsou! You yellow bald headed bastard!" Shouted Helous right as the two primarchs walked out of view. Both embraced each other as brothers. Honsou was one of the Golden Primarchs greatest pretorians. He had become part of his primarchs personal retinue ten years ago. Helous and Honsou had both fought along each other for a decade while Rogal Dorn and his Imperial Fists had first been discovered and had had assistance from Perturabo and his Iron Warriors. After that, they had always been appreciated to battle with one another when the Emperor required the assistance of the two to take down an enemies defences. "Helous... my brother, how has your legions hand in this crusade been?" "Nasty at best Honsou, Perturabo has been quite disapointed about many things. Things he will not even tell me."
The room was cold and dark. Around the room were pieces of alien technology contained in glass. Perturabo had always been a master and collector of technology. He knew how everything worked that often the Martians would ask him of his advice and help, though it sorely hurt their pride to ask such a thing from a flesh corpse. Perturabo handed over a glass of wine to Dorn. This whole time, Perturabo had not even made eye contact. Suddenly he turned over and faced Dorn in his eyes as he sat down on a chair made of stone. "Sit down brother." Dorn sat down enjoying the sip he had taken from his refreshment. "Thank you brother. We have always been close. Of all the legions and brothers that I have fought alongside, you and your legion have been the most influential and helpful to my success. Thats why I have come to you for trust." "Trust..." The cold and icy primarch tried to whisper though Dorn could sense a bit of anger and bitterness in his voice. "You were there the day Horus had unknowingly decided the fate of the eleventh legion. You and I are the only elements that know the whereabouts of our lost brother. It is Horus' fault that he has been excommunicated!" Perturabo had not been one to show emotion, but Dorn could understand. Of all the primarchs that shared brotherhood, Dorn and Perturabo had been one of the closest next to Horus and Sanguinus. Perturabo had great pride of the Imperial Fists and Dorn. Perturabo had been the second brother to be found by The Emperor. Both Horus and Perturabo had helped the other legions until the primarchs could finally handle their legions and worlds on their own. Unlike his brother Horus who went out for glory to seek in his crusade, Perturabo had spent much of his time helping legions. The only Legion Horus had really taken under his arms was Fulgrim and his Emperor's Children. Horus had been proud when the Emperor had given them their name and the gift to wear the sign of the Aquila. Perturabo had been quite disapointed with how the Primarchs had influenced the great legions Perturabo had trained. Perturabo had helped much of the Thousand Sons and Magnus during the crusade. Perturabo had taught Magnus the power in having knowledge. Except, instead of the logistical and technolgical knowledge Perturabo had taught him, Magnus had always liked to play around with sorcery. Perturabo did not hate sorcery like most of his cousins but he was disapointed that Magnus had only walked away with a fragment of reality. Another of Perturabo's failures had been the World Eaters. At first the legion seemed a promising legion. Perhaps not as intelligent as his Iron Warriors. But they were the ideal soldier that had seen no equal. As such was their love of warfare that they had been a legion known for being "trigger happy." They marvelled the heavy bolter. But more than that, they loved close quarters and its variety of close combat choice weapons. But when Angron had become primarch of the World Eaters, they had become nothing more than blood crazed lunatics. The potential legion had become the will of a monster in rage. It would be a sight to see the astartes of Angron's legion fighting any battle with more than a bolt pistol and close combat weapon. Even if you would witness such a rare thing, his astartes would be randomly shooting everything into the atmosphere as a challenge to their enemies. The eleventh legion was a tratedgy and potential legion all together. But Dorn and his Imperial Fists, had been a legion Perturabo was proud to have helped and fight alongside. As such he had his right elbow pad colored with yellow and black in respect of Dorn's Legion. A mark incorporated unto every Iron Warrior somewhere and not necessary on the elbow. No two legion's tactics had even rivaled the closeness than Perturabo's and Dorn's legions. Dorn had gone off to learn extra tactics for his legion, having grown a close bond with his brother Horus. "I have told him... I shall follow him. What does he want from me? Does he want me to crawl on all fours and have me tell the whole Imperium how much I adore his position as Warmaster?" Dorn got up from the cold stone chair and put his left arm on his left shoulder. "He just wants to be sure that you will do as he asks." Perturabo stood up from his stone chair and walked away to a table away from Dorn. On the table were all sorts of works Perturabo had been spending his life trying to solve. Perturabo had been an inventor in his own respect. When Perturabo thought of something he would invent he would sit in his room and find out someway for his invention to work. They would all be solved... "I do not trust Horus. Horus is an enigma in his own way. I do not understand him. Because of him a whole legion will be lost... perhaps... forever." Dorn walked over the table and clenched his fists. "Perturabo... my brother... you can always trust me. Do not trust your intuition. Trust you best trait. Be logical. What has happened has happened. What is lost, is lost forever. Horus failures are the past. Horus' burdens surpass us all, and because of this he has more to live up too. He will be a true Warmaster. You know that." Perturabo stared into the darkness, his emotion locked away now. "I will always be loyal to the Imperium Dorn. Even if it means that I should follow Horus as the new Warmaster. I trust you... and you are right. I will not search my emotions again." Dorn walked to the table. "Good, we are to set fire on the planet Lestad. The Emperor will be there. Be ready my brother." Dorn set the glass on the table. As Dorn walked out the room, Perturabo searched the half empty glass. Before leaving the room he said "Iron Within brother, Iron Within." The two had chanted it to each other every time they parted ways as a sign of respect. As Perturabo searched the glass he saw a drop of spilled wine form a shape. As he searched the shape it was forming something impossible for liquid to make. It was making perfect sharp angles and round formations. As the wine had finished spreading across one of his archtectual plans it formed he could finally make sense of the shape. A dagger.
Honsou and Helous trolled along the broadside compartments of the Spear of Iron. Honsou like most of his legion admired the tools of siege warfare. Being on the ship of the father of siege warfare was indeed a sight that awed him. Honsou had never seen such beautiful pieces as these canons. These pieces had been engineered and created from the plans of Perturabo himself. "Horus sends us to the stone world of Lestad." Helous smiled with a smirk of rejoice. "You tell me this, and yet you will not be there. As one of your primarch's pretorian, I doubt you will see a fight for a very... very... long time.... I sense you are hiding something from me." Honsou starred at the decks and cannons. The place was beautiful in the sense it had the tools of death, but the space was rusty, and dusty, with a grey loom all around. As though the ship was a ghost ship. Honsou replied off topic, "You Iron Warriors should really give this place a makeover. It looks like a forsaken dungeon." Helous barked at Honsou "For the sake of the Emperor! Don't change the subject." The Warrior in yellow armor stopped walking. "...Dorn has accepted me as temporary first captain. I will leading the Imperial Fists on this planet. It has been years since I suffered that wraithlord's blast. I thought my lord would never let me fight again. Though I have great honor that my lord has granted me such a rank in his guard I miss the smell of cannon fire and the destruction of walls the enemies of the emperor." Helous smiled and turned to Honsou. "Honsou, it will be a great and honorable battle, and the Imperium's two best champions will be seen in the glory of the emperor. Both you and I will be envied before the other Legions, in this life... and the next."
Iron Soul
The Finding
A pale and broad figure looked from his throne onto the decks of his ship with cold blue eyes. A stare that would send a normal man trembling. This was the primarch of the fourth legion. A cold hearted form of a once great man. Perturabo had been staring at the decks of his ship for several days now. This was not an abnormal thing of the Primarch of the fourth legion to do. Those within the Spear of Iron knew not to bother him while he was in his thoughts. Not in fear that they should suffer his wrath, but of the look in his unemotional face. A face without a slight hint of any emotion.
Though he kept most primarchs at a distance, they also kept a distance from him as well. No primarch could understand this primarch. There was no brotherly hug or sign of love with his other brothers, except for Horus and Dorn. And even they would always be the ones to walk up to him with the embrace. The Primarch of the fourth legion was cold, but also considerably the most professional of all the primarchs. Unlike Fulgrim who burried himself with glorious trophies or Leman Russ who covered himself in the skins of dead animals. Like him, his legion was a perfect imbodyment of their Primarch. Of all the legions, they were regarded as a robotic legion acting under one mind. Unlike the World Eaters who would charge into the fray without orders, the Iron Warriors were cold hearted bodies that would unleash a fury like no other when the logistics were in place, and then and only then would the unstoppable tide of Iron be unleashed... once unleashed... it would only end once those logistics were in placed, or when told to stop by non other than the primarch of the Iron Warriors himself. Astartes of other Legions would stop for mere moments to try and see what drove these emotionless robots. To comprehend these murderers would to understand pure madness. Unlike the savagery of the Luna Wolves or the Wolves of Fenris that fueled their rage from their animalistic instincts, or the firey rage of the Salamanders, or even the rage that fueled the anger of the Blood Angels and the World Eaters, the Iron Warriors had rage that sparked no emotion. The Iron Warriors were the embodyment of true cold rage. Though astartes were known to know no fear, there were rumors that astartes would often have shivers up their spines at the mere sight of these cold hearted and ruthless murderers in the act. Perhaps not fear, but the mere inability to understand such rage.
"Dorn has arrived." The crew all shuddered and looked upon the great figure who had just spoken. Tears running down most of their eyes as though they had just seen a god. "As you're calculations have always proven, you are right," said a warrior in bulky terminator armor. Helous the Warsmith of the First Grand Company had retained his position for so many years even before the discovery of Horus. Perturabo had admired this Warsmith's grand talent and had given him a title that would change that name... "The Warsmith." It was a name befitting of the most loyal commander in his legion. Perturabo had somewhat distrusted most members of his legion. He hated the fact that he could not read his warriors expressions. The distrust had run throughout his entire legion, and was not uncommon. Though his warriors tended to ignore that distrust by knowing that any orders given, were given by the almighty Perturabo. And above all, he could be trusted. The Phalanx boarded the Spear of Iron. A large figure clad in golden armor walked aboard the Spear of Iron along with a retinue of terminators. Perturabo was walking along the corridor with Helous and one of his captains of his grand company who was also claded in the silver and gold terminator armor. His name Captain Forrix. "Dorn... how did I know you would be the one to come to my ship at such a time?" Said Perturabo in a very obscure way. "Brother... you know why. Horus is Warmaster now, and he needs you beside him during this time. He fears you still hate him."
Perturabo turned his head and starred at the ships deck for few moments. "Come with me Dorn, this discussion shall be talked about elsewhere." As a sign of respect, Perturabo accepted his brother embrace and they walked away to the grand primarch's chambers. "Honsou! You yellow bald headed bastard!" Shouted Helous right as the two primarchs walked out of view. Both embraced each other as brothers. Honsou was one of the Golden Primarchs greatest pretorians. He had become part of his primarchs personal retinue ten years ago. Helous and Honsou had both fought along each other for a decade while Rogal Dorn and his Imperial Fists had first been discovered and had had assistance from Perturabo and his Iron Warriors. After that, they had always been appreciated to battle with one another when the Emperor required the assistance of the two to take down an enemies defences. "Helous... my brother, how has your legions hand in this crusade been?" "Nasty at best Honsou, Perturabo has been quite disapointed about many things. Things he will not even tell me."
The room was cold and dark. Around the room were pieces of alien technology contained in glass. Perturabo had always been a master and collector of technology. He knew how everything worked that often the Martians would ask him of his advice and help, though it sorely hurt their pride to ask such a thing from a flesh corpse. Perturabo handed over a glass of wine to Dorn. This whole time, Perturabo had not even made eye contact. Suddenly he turned over and faced Dorn in his eyes as he sat down on a chair made of stone. "Sit down brother." Dorn sat down enjoying the sip he had taken from his refreshment. "Thank you brother. We have always been close. Of all the legions and brothers that I have fought alongside, you and your legion have been the most influential and helpful to my success. Thats why I have come to you for trust." "Trust..." The cold and icy primarch tried to whisper though Dorn could sense a bit of anger and bitterness in his voice. "You were there the day Horus had unknowingly decided the fate of the eleventh legion. You and I are the only elements that know the whereabouts of our lost brother. It is Horus' fault that he has been excommunicated!" Perturabo had not been one to show emotion, but Dorn could understand. Of all the primarchs that shared brotherhood, Dorn and Perturabo had been one of the closest next to Horus and Sanguinus. Perturabo had great pride of the Imperial Fists and Dorn. Perturabo had been the second brother to be found by The Emperor. Both Horus and Perturabo had helped the other legions until the primarchs could finally handle their legions and worlds on their own. Unlike his brother Horus who went out for glory to seek in his crusade, Perturabo had spent much of his time helping legions. The only Legion Horus had really taken under his arms was Fulgrim and his Emperor's Children. Horus had been proud when the Emperor had given them their name and the gift to wear the sign of the Aquila. Perturabo had been quite disapointed with how the Primarchs had influenced the great legions Perturabo had trained. Perturabo had helped much of the Thousand Sons and Magnus during the crusade. Perturabo had taught Magnus the power in having knowledge. Except, instead of the logistical and technolgical knowledge Perturabo had taught him, Magnus had always liked to play around with sorcery. Perturabo did not hate sorcery like most of his cousins but he was disapointed that Magnus had only walked away with a fragment of reality. Another of Perturabo's failures had been the World Eaters. At first the legion seemed a promising legion. Perhaps not as intelligent as his Iron Warriors. But they were the ideal soldier that had seen no equal. As such was their love of warfare that they had been a legion known for being "trigger happy." They marvelled the heavy bolter. But more than that, they loved close quarters and its variety of close combat choice weapons. But when Angron had become primarch of the World Eaters, they had become nothing more than blood crazed lunatics. The potential legion had become the will of a monster in rage. It would be a sight to see the astartes of Angron's legion fighting any battle with more than a bolt pistol and close combat weapon. Even if you would witness such a rare thing, his astartes would be randomly shooting everything into the atmosphere as a challenge to their enemies. The eleventh legion was a tratedgy and potential legion all together. But Dorn and his Imperial Fists, had been a legion Perturabo was proud to have helped and fight alongside. As such he had his right elbow pad colored with yellow and black in respect of Dorn's Legion. A mark incorporated unto every Iron Warrior somewhere and not necessary on the elbow. No two legion's tactics had even rivaled the closeness than Perturabo's and Dorn's legions. Dorn had gone off to learn extra tactics for his legion, having grown a close bond with his brother Horus. "I have told him... I shall follow him. What does he want from me? Does he want me to crawl on all fours and have me tell the whole Imperium how much I adore his position as Warmaster?" Dorn got up from the cold stone chair and put his left arm on his left shoulder. "He just wants to be sure that you will do as he asks." Perturabo stood up from his stone chair and walked away to a table away from Dorn. On the table were all sorts of works Perturabo had been spending his life trying to solve. Perturabo had been an inventor in his own respect. When Perturabo thought of something he would invent he would sit in his room and find out someway for his invention to work. They would all be solved... "I do not trust Horus. Horus is an enigma in his own way. I do not understand him. Because of him a whole legion will be lost... perhaps... forever." Dorn walked over the table and clenched his fists. "Perturabo... my brother... you can always trust me. Do not trust your intuition. Trust you best trait. Be logical. What has happened has happened. What is lost, is lost forever. Horus failures are the past. Horus' burdens surpass us all, and because of this he has more to live up too. He will be a true Warmaster. You know that." Perturabo stared into the darkness, his emotion locked away now. "I will always be loyal to the Imperium Dorn. Even if it means that I should follow Horus as the new Warmaster. I trust you... and you are right. I will not search my emotions again." Dorn walked to the table. "Good, we are to set fire on the planet Lestad. The Emperor will be there. Be ready my brother." Dorn set the glass on the table. As Dorn walked out the room, Perturabo searched the half empty glass. Before leaving the room he said "Iron Within brother, Iron Within." The two had chanted it to each other every time they parted ways as a sign of respect. As Perturabo searched the glass he saw a drop of spilled wine form a shape. As he searched the shape it was forming something impossible for liquid to make. It was making perfect sharp angles and round formations. As the wine had finished spreading across one of his archtectual plans it formed he could finally make sense of the shape. A dagger.
Honsou and Helous trolled along the broadside compartments of the Spear of Iron. Honsou like most of his legion admired the tools of siege warfare. Being on the ship of the father of siege warfare was indeed a sight that awed him. Honsou had never seen such beautiful pieces as these canons. These pieces had been engineered and created from the plans of Perturabo himself. "Horus sends us to the stone world of Lestad." Helous smiled with a smirk of rejoice. "You tell me this, and yet you will not be there. As one of your primarch's pretorian, I doubt you will see a fight for a very... very... long time.... I sense you are hiding something from me." Honsou starred at the decks and cannons. The place was beautiful in the sense it had the tools of death, but the space was rusty, and dusty, with a grey loom all around. As though the ship was a ghost ship. Honsou replied off topic, "You Iron Warriors should really give this place a makeover. It looks like a forsaken dungeon." Helous barked at Honsou "For the sake of the Emperor! Don't change the subject." The Warrior in yellow armor stopped walking. "...Dorn has accepted me as temporary first captain. I will leading the Imperial Fists on this planet. It has been years since I suffered that wraithlord's blast. I thought my lord would never let me fight again. Though I have great honor that my lord has granted me such a rank in his guard I miss the smell of cannon fire and the destruction of walls the enemies of the emperor." Helous smiled and turned to Honsou. "Honsou, it will be a great and honorable battle, and the Imperium's two best champions will be seen in the glory of the emperor. Both you and I will be envied before the other Legions, in this life... and the next."
