Author: Thoth, Calliope, Neshomeh, Horvat, Huinesoron, Scapegrace
Boarders/Warhammer 40K Primarchs
The Primarch Ships
The Lion's Den (Grundleplith/Lion El'Jonson)
There was knock at the door of 'Plith's RC. He went to open it.
Outside stood a man. A very large man. Inhumanly large. With a handsome face and long, flowing blond hair. He wore a dark green robe wrapped loosely around him, exposing the strength of his muscular chest. "Greetings."
'Plith gaped at the man. "But you're..."
"Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels, yes. I and my brothers heard tell of this 'Shipfest', and decided to participate." The Lion ducked into the small RC, ignoring the awed noises 'Plith was making. "You are my choice for tonight."
'Plith's eyes widened. "Me? B-b-but... I'm not... interested in... I'm... you... I can't..."
Lion laughed, "Oh?" He lifted 'Plith, pressing the smaller man tight against him. "But do you not feel the desire within you? To feel my touch? To experience my body pressing against yours? To feel the touch of my lips? If so, let such desire be released unto me."
'Plith thought for a moment. Yes, this wasn't his thing, but... well... it was a primarch. It was different. And the Lion was his favorite... "Yes," he said, quietly. "I want... this." He pulled himself closer to meet the Primarch's lips with his own, and the two came together in a passionate kiss.
~~
Hours later, 'Plith found himself a the bar, staring blankly into the distance with a glass of Bleepka, trying desperately not to think about what had happened. He turned to the side, still staring vacantly, when he realized that Thoth was sitting next to him, with a thousand-yard stare to match his own.
"Uh... hey," said 'Plith, dully. "How are you."
"Primarch," said Thoth, his tone matching. "You?"
"Same. So... VI or XVth? I can't imagine it was any of the others..."
"I... don't want to discuss it. At all."
The two sat in silence for a moment.
"Thoth?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you know what I'm going to say..."
"Can I say it with you?"
"Sure."
The two of them spoke in quiet, exhausted unison. "Let us never speak of this again."
The Wolf's Den (Thoth/Leman Russ)
A knock sounded at the door to Thoth's Response Center, leading the technician to stand and open said door. "Hel--"
He paused at the sight of a hulking man outside his door. Hulking to the point of being absolutely inhuman. An inhumanly large man who promptly swept his way into the room, shaking out his roughly-braided blond mane as he went. "Hello yourself, little one. You are Thoth, yes? I'm in the right room this time?"
The techie blinked and nodded. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, that's me. And you're--"
"Leman of the Russ," the primarch interrupted with a nod. "My brothers and I heard of this... Shipfest, wasn't it?" He waved a hand in dismissal. "Regardless, we have decided to take part. And you, little one, are my choice for the night."
Thoth gaped in shock. "Wha--but - but I'm - Russ, I'm - I'm honored, really, but I don't..."
Russ smiled down at him, an odd expression on that face. "You mean the part where you chose my traitor brother's army instead of my own?" he asked almost casually. He couldn't quite disguise all of the barb in his voice.
Thoth took an instinctive step back, but knew better than to try hiding the truth from a primarch. "Well... uh... yeah, actually. I mean, it came down to you two, but the Sons just... felt like me more."
The primarch of Legion VI grinned. "And that, little one, is exactly why I chose you. Either you learn the true glory of the Space Wolves, or I get to lord this over my brother for a millennium. Or both. Preferably both. What do you say?"
After a moment of shock, the technician began to laugh almost helplessly. "You know what, Russ? Sure," he said when he could finally breathe. "Show me what you've got."
~~~
Several hours later, Thoth trudged into Rudi's almost stiffly before gingerly sitting down at the bar. His eyes were dull and vacant, focused in rather than out, but he still recognized the man sitting next to him.
"Uh... hey," 'Plith said dully. "How are you?"
"Primarch," the technician responded, tone equally exhausted. "You?"
"Same. So... VI or XVth? I can't imagine it was any of the others..."
"I... don't want to discuss it. At all."
The pair sat in silence for a moment or two before 'Plith broke it. "Thoth?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you know what I'm going to say..."
"Can I say it with you?" He roused himself out of his lethargy by the smallest amount.
"Sure."
And the, in quiet, dead-on-their-feet unison, they spoke. "Let us never speak of this again."
The Cyclops' Lair (Calliope/Magnus the Red)
+I would request that you open the door for me.+
Calliope looked up. "Who said that?"
+If you open the door, you'll find out. I don't bite...+
Cal opened the door hesitantly. The man behind it was enormous, to say the least. He was dressed simply in a plain white robe, which only drew more attention to his most striking aspect: his skin was a bright red. Furthermore, one eye was missing. There wasn't an empty socket. It simply... wasn't there. She nodded slowly. "Magnus the Red, I presume."
The man nodded, strolling into the RC. "Astute. Although not terribly so. At least you have some measure of learning."
Cal gave a customary smile. "Well, then, Magnus. What is it you want?"
Magnus smiled kindly, bending down to bestow upon Calliope a gentle kiss. "I happen to desire you. This accursed challenge from my brother means that I was going to seek you out, but having arrived... I think I find you more appealing than I initially believed I would."
"Thank you," Cal said, blushing. "So... uh... what are you thinking?"
"Your guess is exactly correct. I'm going to give you what I want. Shall we?"
Cal skipped into Rudi's, only to be met by the drained (and, particularly in 'Plith's case, slightly haunted) expressions of Thoth and 'Plith. "Hallo, you two! What's going on?"
Thoth groaned tiredly. "Hey, Cal... what's gotten into you?"
"Well, you'll never believe it, but Magnus the Red showed up in my room! And he was amazing. Gave me just what I wanted. Fantastic." Cal was practically glowing just talking about it.
"Great..." Thoth sighed, giving Cal a mild glare. "Could you... not give us all the sordid details? I don't need to hear about whatever bizarre, probably gross thing you got up to."
Cal sighed dramatically. "Fine, then." She took a seat. "Anyone up for chess?"
Cal purred softly, curling up on Magnus' chest. "Mm... you're right. This is exactly what I wanted."
Magnus smiled, stroking her head posessively. "I know. I would have brought more, but..."
"This is enough." Cal poured over more of the books. "I've never seen anything like these. It's amazing."
"Indeed it is. Prospero is a truly wondrous city."
Abruptly, Leman Russ opened the door and poked his head in. "Calliope... Ah. Very well. Best of luck to you, Magnus." His tone was even, but Cal thought he could hear a faint growl as he walked away.
Cal nuzzled closer into Magnus. "...you know, I almost forgot to tell you how incredible that sex was..."
Magnus chuckled gently. "I already know. I was there for it, of course..."
The Seventh Castle (Neshomeh/Rogal Dorn)
Neshomeh had spent a long day in the archives. The shipfest was on, yeah, but, for the time being at least, she seemed to be out of its focus. As such, she was taking the opportunity to catch up on work. Like organizing the archives. And writing missions. And writing interludes that would be unpublishable until after the missions were published, when the missions wouldn't be published until after she'd written them, which she hadn't done, because she was too busy writing interludes.
Oh, and there was poetry and music writing mixed in as well. And all kinds of other work.
Eventually, all of this writing would get into the hands of her eager readers. And she was working furiously on it. It's just that there was so much of it to work on all at once, and it seemed like everything took forever to get done.
But there were bright sides. It could be worse: at least she wasn't like Thoth. That kid never seemed to even get started on anything of consequence.
Anyways, yes. She was making use of the downtime quite adequately. She'd even found another way to make more people think about Thoth (the agent) and Derik kissing passionately as they solemnly professed their love to one another. Nevermind how it was possible to confess love when your mouth was full of someone else's tongue. There was enough impossible, unlikely, or just not-happening-in-this-timeline things happening in that scene that one more couldn't hurt. This sort of thing was more Thoth's game than hers, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Besides, at least she didn't tease the ship in the middle of other stories where it didn't even make sense to do so.
The point was, she certainly wasn't looking for any crazy shipfest shenanigans. As such, the Ironic Overpower would no doubt ensure shipfest shenanigans would come knocking.
There was a knock at the door. Apparently, the Ironic Overpower wasn't feeling particularly subtle.
Neshomeh sighed, putting away her pen, and went to open it. "Who is-" She paused, gaping at the exceedingly large, exceedingly yellow figure before her.
"Greetings." said the man, his voice oddly... flat? It was hard to say. "I Am Rogal Dorn."
Nesh shook her head rapidly clear it. "The primarch... right. Come in, please."
The giant entered the room, taking a seat upon the floor. "I Appreciate You Allowing Me To Enter Your Domicile, Mortal."
"You're... welcome?" The formal speech threw the boarder slightly off-kilter, although it was easy for her to decipher it. "So why are you here?"
"I Have Come To Participate In This Festival Of Ships. But I See No Ships. Only People."
Nesh gave a small laugh. This was definitely TTS!Dorn. "Ah... wrong sort of ship... this is a festival for... relationships." Having grown more comfortable, she took in her visitor more fully. His yellow robe did little to hide the strength of his enormous frame. His close-cut grey hair nicely emphasized the definition of his face. And his moustache... Well, it was a very sexy moustache. Very sexy. Nesh didn't think Dorn was supposed to have a moustache, but if the moustache was going to be this sexy, she didn't mind.
"I See. Would You Like To Partake In A Relationship With Me?" Dorn's monotone made it hard to make out the question, but it was there.
"I'm sorry... what?" Nesh blinked. "Why?"
"This Is A Relationship Festival." Dorn's monotone become noticeably deeper, throatier, and sexier, while also remaining exactly the same. "And You Have Caused Me To Become Extremely Aroused."
Nesh smiled, maneuvering herself onto Dorn's lap. "Well... I suppose it could be enjoyable to have some fun with you..."
"I Agree That Copulation May Provide Mutual Pleasure."
"Mmm..." Nesh moved her hand up Dorn's body to caress his moustache. His sexy, sexy moustache. "And where do you think that we should start, Lord Dorn?"
"Please." Dorn moved in and kissed the eager boarder, square on the lips. He spoke in a whispered monotone. "Call me... Adorable."
Some time later, Neshomeh made her way to Rudi's, walking stiffly but humming with satisfaction. She recognized the cluster of Boarders already present and ambled over to join them.
"Primarch?" she asked, connecting the dots.
"Primarch," groaned Thoth and 'Plith.
"Primarch!" chirped Calliope. "Which one did you get?"
"Lord Dorn," Neshomeh bragged, sitting across from Cal at the chessboard. "He is Adorable!"
"Ooh!"
Thoth and 'Plith groaned some more and tried not to listen to the gratuitously gleeful swapping of experiences that followed.
The FRIENDship (Granz/Vulkan)
Granz turned his head towards the call center door as it melted open to a cry of "Hello new friend!"
Standing in the molten remains of the door was none other than the Primarch of the Salamanders, Vulkan. Granz shivered at the sight of this large, oiled up slab of obsidian wearing a green robe that just barely hiding what the Ice Cream Monarch wanted to see most.
"Greeting Canine Friend!" cried the muscular man of Granz's dreams, the primarch's footsteps pounding and he stepped closer.
"V-Vulkan?" Stammered the kind brown haired agent, hoping against hope that his private dreams were about to be realized. With a great charcoal black hand, Vulkan cupped the puppo's head in his hand lovingly.
"Yes tinny me! My..." With a crack of bone, his voice changed to a rugged and brutish one that sent tremors of excitement running through Granz. "BOIZ 'N I EARD BOUT SOME HUMIE 'ING KALLED DA SHIP'EST! OI EARD DAT YA WERE DA NOICEST GIT IN DA 'OLE PPC."
Granz's knees threatened to give out on him, his mind racing to keep up stammered out, "No, that can't be true. I'm hideous anyway." Vulkan shook his head and lifted the relatively tiny figure up. "No friend, you are DA MOST B'EUTIFLES HUMIE OI EVA SEENS!" Laying him down, Vulkan leaned in and whispered into Granz's ear. "I wish to do the Ritual of Friendship with you ND TA SHOW YA WOT A ROIGHT PROPPER ORKY ND BIG SHROOM LOOK LOIK." Ears ringing and heart pounding, Granz nodded and placed his hands on the larger man's chest, running them under his robe to feel the tight pecs and other firm organs that are also integral parts. "I would very much like that, yes."
With a massive smile on his face, the Primarch of the Slamanders Space Marine Legion booped the snoot.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The door to Rudis turned to slag as Vulkan, the Primarch of the salamanders, burst in. On one of his enormous shoulders sat Granz. The two shared a glance before crying out.
"Hello friends! Who wants to go on an adventure?"
The Phoenician's Nest (Huinesoron/Fulgrim)
Huinesoron had just finished logging a particularly fascinating pair of rocks when a knock came at his back door. He looked up in surprise, frowning. The back door didn't get much use, and he had no idea who could be calling there now. He got up and opened it.
"Yes? Who-oh my stars."
He looked up-very, very up-at the figure standing at his entrance. It was a man, but the most stunning form of a man he'd ever seen. His alabaster skin, covered only by a flowing satin robe of purple and gold, gleamed with scented oil over taut muscles. His long hair was silver-white and held back from his forehead in delicate braids. His eyes were dark, sensual pools in a face that was almost unnaturally beautiful, accented by artistic dots of gold. A smirk played across his full, red lips.
"Hello," said Fulgrim, the Phoenician, Primarch of the III Legion, the Emperor's Children. "May I enter?"
"Er." hS hastily cleared his throat, which had gone quite dry. He made way and gestured for the Primarch to come in. "Of course. Please. To what do I owe the, er, the pleasure?"
Fulgrim laughed, a delightful chuckle like water in a brook. "Pleasure, indeed!" He glided inside and ran his hands over the handsome Elven furnishings. Not as majestic as he was used to, perhaps, but charming in their own way. "You see, my brothers and I heard of this Shipfest of yours, and I simply had to take part. You, as one of the-do your people really call yourselves 'Eldar'?"
"Well, Noldor, of House Finarfin, if you want to be precise," the Elf nattered, loosening his collar as Fulgrim fondled his rocks. Was it just him, or was it warm in here?
"Whatever the particulars, it seems you are the most attractive, most nearly perfect specimen this dimension has to offer. Therefore, I have chosen you to be mine for the evening." Fulgrim turned with a radiant smile and grasped Huinesoron's chin delicately between thumb and forefinger. His nails were lacquered red and gold. "I trust that will be acceptable."
"Meep," said hS. He nodded.
"Excellent! Then let us begin." His voice dropped into a sensual purr. "You're going to need these." From within his robe, he pulled out a silken cord, a riding crop, and a pair of feathered handcuffs.
hS gulped. "For... for me?"
Fulgrim laughed his enchanting laugh. "No, my dear Elf. For me." He held out his hands.
There was quite a crowd growing in Rudi's. Most of them looked up when Huinesoron appeared. The elf looked somewhat mussed (for an elf, which is to say, his hair and clothes were only inhumanly well-set-out, rather than perfect), and distinctly dazed.
Huinesoron clambered over the slagged remains of the door and staggered over to the bar, circling past the rambunctuous form of Vulkan on the way. He pulled up a seat next to Grundleplith. "It may just be me," he announced in a dry voice, "but I'm detecting a certain... air of similarity around here."
"Primarchs," 'Plith and Thoth chorused.
"Indeed." Huinesoron stared down at the countertop for a few moments. "Which one's..." He hesitated, brow furrowed. "...the really beautiful one?"
"Sounds like Fulgrim!" Calliope scooted along the bar to join him. "Hey, we're - well, mostly me now, Neshomeh ran off to play with Granz and Vulkan - starting a Primarch Appreciation Club. Wanna join?"
The elf looked from her to the despairing pair on his other side, then over at the boisterous trio out in the middle of the room. "You know what? Sure. I'm into this."
Inside The Iron Fortress (Horvat/Perturabo)
Horvat was in the process of freaking the heck out. Which, to be fair, was an entirely reasonable reaction. "Ohjeeznononononowhatareyoudoingherepleasedon'tkillmeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
The man outside his door kept a stony gaze upon him. "Why do you believe I would wish to kill you?"
"Nononononononon-wait, what?" Horvat stared at the giant. "You are Perturabo, yes?"
Perturabo-for Horvat's assessment was indeed accurate-nodded his head. "I take it you've heard of me. But then... it seems everyone has heard of my brilliance. For better or worse."
"...Hang on." Horvat thought for a moment. "How did you end up here? Where do you live?"
"To be honest, I am not certain how I find myself in this place, whatever it may be. I believe this may be a first." Perturabo nodded thoughtfully. "In any case, I make my home upon the world of Olympia, as I have for as long as I can remember. I take it I am elsewhere."
"Ermmm... you could saaay that..." Horvat looked around. "We can get you back, but first... can you look at these?" He passed Perturabo a sheaf of papers, full of diagrams and drawings. "I would really like your opinion of them..."
"Fortification plans?" The Primarch glanced at the papers casually. "These are appalling. Simple, easily penetrable. The result of a simple mind."
Horvat flinched. When he next spoke, his words were quieter, more hesitant. "...Then... could you help me fix them, maybe?"
Perturabo snorted contemptuously. "Why should I? All my life I am used as a weapon of war. And you wish me to continue to work for such a purpose when I am, for the first time, free? I will do no such thing."
"...okay." Horvat spoke in a small voice. "But... before you go... can I... can I see your architectural designs?"
"...my what."
"The designs you made. The ideas for the magnificent cities and spires and cathedrals and their wonders. The most beautiful, brilliant designs." Horvat trembled. "Can I see them?"
The primarch was overcome for a moment. "You... you actually want to see my designs? You want to witness my work?"
"Of course."
"In all my years... nobody has ever cared enough to so much as ask." Perturabo stepped into Horvat's RC. "Come here, little one. Sit upon my lap, so that I may show you my designs."
~~
Horvat curled up against Perturabo. "Those were incredible. Some of the best I've ever seen."
The Primarch smiled. "Well... I do try to be the best."
"You know..." Horvat snuggled in closer. "We have the shipfest, right now..."
"The... shipfest." Perturabo's brow wrinkled. "I have not heard of such a thing. How might I partake?"
The boarder's eyes sparkled. "Well... it would start... like this." He leaned forward, kissed Perturabo softly on the lips. "Shall we continue?"
Perturabo was silent for a moment. "I believe I would enjoy that, yes."
The Kingdom of the Khan (Geema/ Jaghatai Khan)
"What's so funny?" The enormous man asked.
"Oh... it's just that..." Geema stopped speaking to laugh a bit more, still bent double in mirth. "You look... so... stupid!"
The man nodded slowly, his absurdly ostentatious (and vaguely oriental) garb flashing in the light of HQ. "I don't believe I look particularly silly. Although perhaps the topknot is a bit excessive."
"Dude, it looks awful," said Geema. "Seriously. And that warpaint... it's amazing. Just... wow." He sighed, trying to wipe the grin from his face before he burst out laughing again. "Anyways, who are you?"
"I am Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars. And, in the interests of better understanding the culture your land, I have come to participate in your "shipfest." Namely, by having sex with you."
Geema blinked. "Well... that was... direct."
The Khan smiled. "I like to do things quickly."
"Well... why don't you come in. And I hope you don't like doing everything quickly..." Geema looked the Primarch up and down. Yes... despite the silliness of his outfit, he was rather attractive.
"Oh believe me," said Khan, pressing an assertive hand on Geema's shoulder, "I know well that there are some things best taken at a slower pace."
The Strength of the Flesh (Tomash/ Ferrus Manus)
Tomash nodded, running his hands along the cold metal. "These are, obviously, in immaculate condition. Why did you want me to look at them again, Mr..."
"Manus," said Ferrus. "Ferrus Manus."
"Appropriate," Tomash chuckled. "I mean, seeing as we're looking at your hands, and they're made of iron..."
"Yes, I get it..." Ferrus sighed. "Do you have any suggestions for improvement?"
Tomash shook his head. "No, not really. None that I can think of. Although I'll be honest, I don't entirely understand these things to begin with. Anyways... uh... were you named after the Primarch Ferrus Manus, by any chance?"
"Use your eyes, boy," snapped Ferrus. "I am he."
"Oh, right, right, that makes sense..." Tomash trailed off. "How did you get in here?"
Ferrus waved a hand dismissively. "Not important. In any case, I wanted someone to examine my hands. They are, of course, perfect. But I wanted to check."
Tomash shrugged. "Seem fine to me, anyways." He cleared his throat. "So... uh... Iron Hands, then? They're pretty cool..."
"Are they, then?" Ferrus's voice had developed a chilling calm.
"Yeah! All machine stuff and-"
Tomash was interrupted when Ferrus's fist hit the table, causing him to jump back from the pile of wood that was once the table. "No. What my sons have done is not 'cool'. It is entirely against the spirit of what I stood for when I was alive."
"...Wait, really? You're all about machine parts and stuff, right?"
"Is my memory truly so desecrated?" Ferrus gave another weary sigh. "When I was alive, boy, I believed in the strength of the human flesh more than all else. Not machines. And yet my sons have become disgusted with the flesh's very existence."
Tomash nodded slowly, moving around to get closer to Ferrus. "Yeah... I guess I can understand that. Sucks, really..."
Manus nodded. "That is the least of it." He paused, briefly. "...Apologies about your table."
"'S fine," said Tomash. "This is DoSAT. They break biweekly." He looked the primarch up and down. "You know, I think you could do with a hug." He hugged the Primarch, although it was somewhat awkward due to the rather large difference in stature.
Ferrus looked down at the man. "...You, boy, are very strange. But I think I like you."
Tomash smiled at the giant. "Well... good! I think you're pretty alright."
"Boy, I have been alone for a rather long time." Ferrus smiled slowly. "Perhaps I should show you another way the flesh can be strong." The words left no doubt what he intended.
"...You know... I think I might like that," said Tomash. "Come on. My room shouldn't be too far away. Hopefully."
An Unexpected Primarch (Phobos/Alpharius)
Just before tea-time, there came a tremendous knock on the door to Phobos' response center. He suddenly remembered: he had promised Neshomeh a date to make up for sharing her tea with Kaitlyn. But, he'd been so busy building a deck for his latest MTG blog that he'd clean forgotten! He rushed and put the kettle on, then ran to the door.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he was going to say, when he saw that it wasn't Neshomeh at all.
It was a bald man about a foot taller than him, with coppery skin, and very bright eyes under his dark green hood. As soon as the door opened, he pushed inside, just as though he had been expected. He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg and said "Alpharius, at your service!" with a low bow.
"Uh. I'm Phobos. At yours?" said Phobos, too surprised to ask questions for the moment. When the silence that followed became too uncomfortable, he added, "I was gonna have some tea." He didn't add: with my wife. "You want some?"
He showed Alpharius in and had barely poured him a cup when there came an even louder knock.
"'Scuse me," said Phobos, and off he went to the door.
"Here you are!" he was going to say to Neshomeh this time. But it was not Neshomeh. Instead there was another man indistinguishable from the first, except that he wore a scarlet hood, and he too hopped inside as soon as the door was open, just as if he had been invited.
"I see they have begun to arrive already," he said when he caught sight of Alpharius' green hood hanging up. He hung his red one next to it, and "Alpharius at your service," he said with his hand on his breast.
"Thanks?" said Phobos with a raised eyebrow. It was not the correct thing to say, but he was badly flustered. "Come on in and have some tea, I guess?" he managed to say after taking a deep breath.
"A little beer would suit me better, if you have any, my good sir," said Alpharius with the red hood.
"Nope, sorry. Can't stand the stuff," said Phobos. "I might have some cider, though." He went off to the kitchen to look, and when he got back the two Alphariuses were talking at the table like old friends (in fact they were brothers). He plunked a cold can of cider in front of the second one, when a loud knock came at the door again, and then another knock.
Neshomeh for sure this time, he thought. But it was not. It was two more men, both with blue hoods and otherwise indistinguishable from the first two. In they hopped, as soon as the door began to open-Phobos was hardly surprised this time.
"Alpharius at your service!" said the one. "And Alpharius!" added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed.
"Riiight," said Phobos.
"Alpharius and Alpharius are here already, I see," said Alpharius. "Let us join the throng!"
Throng! thought Phobos, wondering if there might end up being enough people for a quick draft of Magic. He had only just checked to see whether he had enough booster packs for an eight-person draft with prizes when, banga-banga-bang, there was more pounding at his door.
"Three people at the door?" he said hopefully.
"Some four, I should say by the sound," said the second blue-hood Alpharius. "Besides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance.
Phobos shrugged. Nine people in a draft was a little awkward, but he could make it work. But it was not four after all: it was FIVE. Another huge bald man had come along while he was wondering in the hall. He had hardly turned the knob before they were all inside, bowing and saying "at your service" one after the other. Alpharius, Alpharius, Alpharius, Alpharius, and Alpharius were their names (Phobos was not at all surprised at this point), and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs, and off they marched with their broad hands stuck in their belts to join the others.
Okay, thought Phobos, ten-man draft. It sucks, but what can you do? He rushed around for a while, getting drinks and snacks for everyone and putting out enough basic Lands and life counters to go around. He had just about gotten set up to play when there came yet another loud knock.
He scowled. Eleven people would be even worse than ten. He'd have to split the draft into pods of six and five, and that was just dumb. Annoyed, he pulled the door open with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More bald men, four more! And there was another one behind, slightly taller than the others in a dark blue hood with a long gold tassel, laughing.
"Carefully, carefully!" he said. "It is not like you, Phobos, to leave friends waiting on the doorstep, and then open the door like a pop-gun! I am Alpharius. Let me introduce Alpharius, Alpharius, Alpharius, and especially Alpharius!"
"At your service!" said Alpharius, Alpharius, and Alpharius, standing in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoods and a pale green one; and also a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel. This last belonged to Alpharius, the spitting image of the one in dark blue.
"Of course you are," muttered Phobos.
"Now we are all here!" said Alpharius, looking at the row of hoods hanging on the pegs. "Quite a merry gathering! Now we can begin."
"Sure!" said Phobos. "There's, what, fifteen total now, so that's a pod of eight and a pod of seven, not bad, not bad. I don't think I have enough packs for prizes, though."
"I have not come to draft," said Alpharius. "I have come for your Shipfest! Will you not entertain the Hydra?"
Phobos thought for a minute. He was, technically, still supposed to be having tea with his wife, but she was way late, and if she did turn up, well... that would make sixteen, and two perfect pods of eight.
"Okay, I'm down," said Phobos. "Let's do this thing!"
~~~~
Several hours later, the door to Rudi's opened once more, and Phobos staggered inside. His clothes were disheveled, his hair a mess, and his manly beard stuck out straight to the sides. He stood in the entrance, swaying slightly.
Neshomeh, who'd been cavorting with Vulkan and Granz in the form of a winged tortoiseshell cat, abruptly morphed back when she spotted her husband. "Oh man, I totally forgot our tea date! Crap, I'm so..." She noticed the glazed look in his eyes. "Hey, what happened to you?"
"I'm not sure," said Phobos. "But I think I'm Alpharius." He took one more step, tripped on a trailing leg of his jeans, and faceplanted onto the floor. There was a three-headed hydra brand on his left hip.
Big Scythe (Alleb/Mortarion)
To a village on Barbarus came a stranger one fine day
Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say
For they all knew his business, and no-one would make a slip
For the tall and handsome stranger wore a big scythe on his hip,
Big scythe on his hip
It was early in the morning when he strode into the town
He came walking from the south and everybody here around
Had heard about this stranger on whom poison had no grip
And was here to do some business with the big scythe on his hip,
Big scythe on his hip
In this town there lived a soldier, and Alleb was her name
And to this grizzled vet'ran every warlord was the same
She was fair and just and kept Barbarus raiders from her door
And the warlords that she'd slain they numbered one and nineteen more,
One and nineteen more
Now the stranger started talking and made plain to folks around
That a great warlord was comin' and they'd have to stand their ground
And though that warlord's army was a vicious one, he said
Mortarion had come and he would see that warlord dead,
See that warlord dead
The news got back to Alleb that Mortarion was here
And was trainin' up the townsfolk for to rid them of their fear
She marched down and she tole him twenty warlords made a slip
And another notch she'd carve upon the pistol at her hip,
Pistol at her hip
The flow of time just slowed down on the day they were to meet
When Mortarion and Alleb they first met eyes in the street
Folks watching from the ramparts, they let out a gasp of breath,
As the two kissed and to warlords soon would be the kiss of death,
Be the kiss of death
There were fifty thousand zombies when the Primarch made his stand
With his Alleb by his side and a new ring upon his hand
The warlord's undead masses felt the hew and tear and rip
From the laspistol of Alleb and the new scythe at her hip,
New scythe at her hip
It was over in a day and all the townsfolk gathered round
Before them was the warlord lying dead upon the ground
Oh, he might have kept on living, but he made the fateful slips
Of challenging the couple with the big scythes at their hips,
Big scythes at their hips
Of challenging the couple with the big scythes at their hips
Huinesoron dragged his gaze away from the small pink fish bobbing in the middle of the pub. "You know," he mused, "I don't think I've ever heard a drinking song accompanied on the sousaphone before."
"Yeah." Thoth stared blankly at his latest drink, then shook himself slightly. "At least Vulkan's got a good singing voice."
"Two good singing voices!" Calliope chimed in. "And Cat Nesh is awesome on the harmonies!"
Just down the bar, Grundleplith slowly slumped down until his forehead hit the wood with a thunk. "I just wanted a nice drink somewhere quiet. Was that too much to ask?"
From the Raven's Nest (Iximaz/Corax)
Dear diary,
I must write once again in your cold, unfeeling pages. Write of my pain, and my sorrow. Of the eternal, icy torment within my heart. Of the unyielding, unended torment and pain that will haunt me to the end of my days. Nevermore...
"Umm... excuse me?"
Nevermore will I be free of my dark, secret shame. Of my incredible uberguilt.
"Hello?"
Nevermore will I be able to hide in the dark black hollows of my soul from my inescapable megatorment.
Iximaz tapped on the giant's shoulder. "Is... anyone in there? Can I talk to them?"
The enormous man looked up, revealing a shock of dark hair contrasted by a face of pallid complexion, bearing an expression of intense concentration. "Yes? What is it, mortal girl? Why do you disrupt my contemplation of my horrifying eternal torment and other things that are equally super-ill?"
"Uh.. sorry to disturb you," muttered Ix quietly, blushing furiously. "But... uh... you've kind of... um... you're sitting in my angsting corner."
The man blinked, and then sighed. "Oh... yet another error to add to my ever-expanding list of folly, its black ink of inky blackness like an ever-expanding river of dark lamentations, struck by the moonlight of my eyes..."
"N-n-no... it's fine," stammered Ix. "We can just... share it, or something. I'm sure there's enough room, maybe if I..." But it seemed the man was, in fact, taking up all the space available. Thinking quickly, Ix sat on his enormous knee. "There we go, see? We can both angst!"
"Yes..." The man nodded slowly. "Yes, mortal. Sit upon me, and contemplate your failings, as I contemplate mine. Together, we shall set forth upon the eternal path of atonement, never to succeed, ever to fail."
Ix frowned. "Um. Okay... Sure, why not. But... um... what's your name?"
"I am Corvus Corax. Once, the primarch of the Raven Guard, but... nevermore."
"Oh..." Ix suppressed the urge to chuckle. "Well... I'm Iximaz. Sorry, no fancy title or anything."
Corax nodded. "No matter. While you may not experience the depths of my eternal hyper-sorrow, we may join together, united... in angst."
Ix nodded. "Yes... united in angst."
For a long moment, they paused, together, angsting in silent contemplation.
"...Corax?" said Ix, quietly. "I have a confession."
"What is it, dear girl?"
"I was trying to angst, but then I started noticing... I started looking at you. And how your hair contrasts with your skin, making you look wonderfully grim and brooding, as if you were about to become one with your angst. I am sorry."
Corax looked down. "I must confess that I, too, have once again failed. I tried to angst, but I couldn't stop paying attention to your beautiful face, how easily it fell into an expression of grim despair and hopelessness... truly, you are the first mortal I have seen to angst so effortlessly."
Ix turned a bright crimson. "It's just... you're so angstily handsome. Can I kiss you?"
"Yes, sweet girl. Our fates are doomed, but I will allow you a kiss on this night. A kiss cementing matched desires born out of souls made twin in their incredible mega-sadness."
Ix crept closer, pulling herself towards Corax. Angstily. Their lips touched in the most angsty way humanly possible, as she wrapped her arms around the angstiest man she had ever met.
Corax rose, carrying her. "We shall now return to my castle of sadness. So that we may express our angst to one another more fully, sweet Iximaz."
"Yes, Corax..." said Ix. "Together, we shall be united to form one being. And that being will be angsty."
By the Book (61516/Roboute Guilliman)
61516 hadn't been aware that there was such thing as regulation seductive-casual dress for Space Marines, but the way the towering figure in front of him wore the immaculately-pressed robe left no doubt that this was indeed the case. Decked out in pure blue and white, perfect from the cropped blonde of his hair to the smooth curves of his calves, the Primarch of the XIIIth Legion cut an imposingly appealing figure.
Or so 61516 thought as he gazed up at Roboute Guilliman. The Primarch towered in his doorway, but didn't speak a word - or move, or do anything other than stand, with an indefinable air of waiting.
Finally 61516 couldn't bear it any longer. "Er... hi?"
Guilliman nodded fractionally, as if expecting exactly that response. "Bonjour," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Ah am Roboute Guilliman; tell me your name."
"Er," 61516 said again. It was one thing to read about the Primarch - it was entirely different to have him looming over you with an inexplicable French accent. "I'm... 61516?"
"Ah, oui." Guilliman nodded gravely, as if ticking an item off on a mental checklist. Then, to 61516's perhaps-unreasonable surprise, he pulled out a clipboard and made an actual tick. "A very logical name. Ah assume you 'ave sixty-one thousand, five 'undred and fifteen siblings."
61516 did not, in fact, have anything of the sort, but the Primarch didn't seem inclined to wait for an answer. Scrutinizing his clipboard, he gave a satisfied nod. "Now it is time for you to tell me 'ow you feel."
"Er." 61516 looked around, but there was no escaping the bizarre conversation. "... confused?"
"Good." Another mark on the list. "And ah am feeling satisfactory. Now." Guilliman placed the clipboard down on the table with a single, perfect click. "This is, 'ow you say, the Shipfest. Ah 'ave selected you to be shipped with. You will 'ave a question."
61516 stared at him. "... what?"
For the first time, a frown creased the Primarch's brow. "That is not the question," he said, glancing at his clipboard. "Would you like another try? Essayer a nouveau??"
61516 stared at the giant figure. "... why do you have a French accent?"
Guilliman practically beamed. "That is the right question."
61516 waited a few moments. "... and?"
Guilliman shrugged, stepped fully into the room, and pulled the door to. "In matters of rrromance," he said, rolling the R to perfection, "the accent Francais is required... by the book."
Pilgrimmage (Kaitlyn/Lorgar)
A very polite knock at the door roused Kaitlyn from contemplation of the next season's corset fashions. Upon answering, she found herself looking up at an exceedingly tall and captivating man. He was bald, but every centimeter of visible skin was tattooed with bright gold runic script. He had deep, soulful eyes in a face that was hard to describe, but seemed somehow familiar. He was dressed in pilgrim's robes of dove-gray, and carried a handful of palm leaves like a bouquet.
"Hello," he said. "Are you Kaitlyn?"
"For you, definitely," she said. "Who are you?"
"I am Lorgar Aurelian, sometimes called the Urizen. I was told you were a priestess. I have come to worship you."
"Former priestess," Kaitlyn pointed out, "and don't you mean 'worship with me'?"
"I do not. I seek someone worthy of devotion. You, a former priestess, perhaps understand the joy in humility, the release in giving praise. Benevolent Kaitlyn, will you not receive my prayers?"
"How..." Kaitlyn swallowed an inexplicable mouthful of drool, "how would you go about worshipping me, exactly?"
Lorgar blinked his lovely eyes. "On my knees, of course."
Kaitlyn looked at him, then herself, and then the likeliest pieces of furniture in the room behind her. "Maybe if I piled a bunch of pillows on the bed...?"
"A most fitting altar." The Primarch smiled.
"Well then. I guess you'd better mosey on in, and bring your pilgrims to my holy shrine." She beckoned with one finger, and the Urizen followed.
There was knock at the door of 'Plith's RC. He went to open it.
Outside stood a man. A very large man. Inhumanly large. With a handsome face and long, flowing blond hair. He wore a dark green robe wrapped loosely around him, exposing the strength of his muscular chest. "Greetings."
'Plith gaped at the man. "But you're..."
"Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels, yes. I and my brothers heard tell of this 'Shipfest', and decided to participate." The Lion ducked into the small RC, ignoring the awed noises 'Plith was making. "You are my choice for tonight."
'Plith's eyes widened. "Me? B-b-but... I'm not... interested in... I'm... you... I can't..."
Lion laughed, "Oh?" He lifted 'Plith, pressing the smaller man tight against him. "But do you not feel the desire within you? To feel my touch? To experience my body pressing against yours? To feel the touch of my lips? If so, let such desire be released unto me."
'Plith thought for a moment. Yes, this wasn't his thing, but... well... it was a primarch. It was different. And the Lion was his favorite... "Yes," he said, quietly. "I want... this." He pulled himself closer to meet the Primarch's lips with his own, and the two came together in a passionate kiss.
~~
Hours later, 'Plith found himself a the bar, staring blankly into the distance with a glass of Bleepka, trying desperately not to think about what had happened. He turned to the side, still staring vacantly, when he realized that Thoth was sitting next to him, with a thousand-yard stare to match his own.
"Uh... hey," said 'Plith, dully. "How are you."
"Primarch," said Thoth, his tone matching. "You?"
"Same. So... VI or XVth? I can't imagine it was any of the others..."
"I... don't want to discuss it. At all."
The two sat in silence for a moment.
"Thoth?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you know what I'm going to say..."
"Can I say it with you?"
"Sure."
The two of them spoke in quiet, exhausted unison. "Let us never speak of this again."
The Wolf's Den (Thoth/Leman Russ)
A knock sounded at the door to Thoth's Response Center, leading the technician to stand and open said door. "Hel--"
He paused at the sight of a hulking man outside his door. Hulking to the point of being absolutely inhuman. An inhumanly large man who promptly swept his way into the room, shaking out his roughly-braided blond mane as he went. "Hello yourself, little one. You are Thoth, yes? I'm in the right room this time?"
The techie blinked and nodded. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, that's me. And you're--"
"Leman of the Russ," the primarch interrupted with a nod. "My brothers and I heard of this... Shipfest, wasn't it?" He waved a hand in dismissal. "Regardless, we have decided to take part. And you, little one, are my choice for the night."
Thoth gaped in shock. "Wha--but - but I'm - Russ, I'm - I'm honored, really, but I don't..."
Russ smiled down at him, an odd expression on that face. "You mean the part where you chose my traitor brother's army instead of my own?" he asked almost casually. He couldn't quite disguise all of the barb in his voice.
Thoth took an instinctive step back, but knew better than to try hiding the truth from a primarch. "Well... uh... yeah, actually. I mean, it came down to you two, but the Sons just... felt like me more."
The primarch of Legion VI grinned. "And that, little one, is exactly why I chose you. Either you learn the true glory of the Space Wolves, or I get to lord this over my brother for a millennium. Or both. Preferably both. What do you say?"
After a moment of shock, the technician began to laugh almost helplessly. "You know what, Russ? Sure," he said when he could finally breathe. "Show me what you've got."
~~~
Several hours later, Thoth trudged into Rudi's almost stiffly before gingerly sitting down at the bar. His eyes were dull and vacant, focused in rather than out, but he still recognized the man sitting next to him.
"Uh... hey," 'Plith said dully. "How are you?"
"Primarch," the technician responded, tone equally exhausted. "You?"
"Same. So... VI or XVth? I can't imagine it was any of the others..."
"I... don't want to discuss it. At all."
The pair sat in silence for a moment or two before 'Plith broke it. "Thoth?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you know what I'm going to say..."
"Can I say it with you?" He roused himself out of his lethargy by the smallest amount.
"Sure."
And the, in quiet, dead-on-their-feet unison, they spoke. "Let us never speak of this again."
The Cyclops' Lair (Calliope/Magnus the Red)
+I would request that you open the door for me.+
Calliope looked up. "Who said that?"
+If you open the door, you'll find out. I don't bite...+
Cal opened the door hesitantly. The man behind it was enormous, to say the least. He was dressed simply in a plain white robe, which only drew more attention to his most striking aspect: his skin was a bright red. Furthermore, one eye was missing. There wasn't an empty socket. It simply... wasn't there. She nodded slowly. "Magnus the Red, I presume."
The man nodded, strolling into the RC. "Astute. Although not terribly so. At least you have some measure of learning."
Cal gave a customary smile. "Well, then, Magnus. What is it you want?"
Magnus smiled kindly, bending down to bestow upon Calliope a gentle kiss. "I happen to desire you. This accursed challenge from my brother means that I was going to seek you out, but having arrived... I think I find you more appealing than I initially believed I would."
"Thank you," Cal said, blushing. "So... uh... what are you thinking?"
"Your guess is exactly correct. I'm going to give you what I want. Shall we?"
Cal skipped into Rudi's, only to be met by the drained (and, particularly in 'Plith's case, slightly haunted) expressions of Thoth and 'Plith. "Hallo, you two! What's going on?"
Thoth groaned tiredly. "Hey, Cal... what's gotten into you?"
"Well, you'll never believe it, but Magnus the Red showed up in my room! And he was amazing. Gave me just what I wanted. Fantastic." Cal was practically glowing just talking about it.
"Great..." Thoth sighed, giving Cal a mild glare. "Could you... not give us all the sordid details? I don't need to hear about whatever bizarre, probably gross thing you got up to."
Cal sighed dramatically. "Fine, then." She took a seat. "Anyone up for chess?"
Cal purred softly, curling up on Magnus' chest. "Mm... you're right. This is exactly what I wanted."
Magnus smiled, stroking her head posessively. "I know. I would have brought more, but..."
"This is enough." Cal poured over more of the books. "I've never seen anything like these. It's amazing."
"Indeed it is. Prospero is a truly wondrous city."
Abruptly, Leman Russ opened the door and poked his head in. "Calliope... Ah. Very well. Best of luck to you, Magnus." His tone was even, but Cal thought he could hear a faint growl as he walked away.
Cal nuzzled closer into Magnus. "...you know, I almost forgot to tell you how incredible that sex was..."
Magnus chuckled gently. "I already know. I was there for it, of course..."
The Seventh Castle (Neshomeh/Rogal Dorn)
Neshomeh had spent a long day in the archives. The shipfest was on, yeah, but, for the time being at least, she seemed to be out of its focus. As such, she was taking the opportunity to catch up on work. Like organizing the archives. And writing missions. And writing interludes that would be unpublishable until after the missions were published, when the missions wouldn't be published until after she'd written them, which she hadn't done, because she was too busy writing interludes.
Oh, and there was poetry and music writing mixed in as well. And all kinds of other work.
Eventually, all of this writing would get into the hands of her eager readers. And she was working furiously on it. It's just that there was so much of it to work on all at once, and it seemed like everything took forever to get done.
But there were bright sides. It could be worse: at least she wasn't like Thoth. That kid never seemed to even get started on anything of consequence.
Anyways, yes. She was making use of the downtime quite adequately. She'd even found another way to make more people think about Thoth (the agent) and Derik kissing passionately as they solemnly professed their love to one another. Nevermind how it was possible to confess love when your mouth was full of someone else's tongue. There was enough impossible, unlikely, or just not-happening-in-this-timeline things happening in that scene that one more couldn't hurt. This sort of thing was more Thoth's game than hers, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Besides, at least she didn't tease the ship in the middle of other stories where it didn't even make sense to do so.
The point was, she certainly wasn't looking for any crazy shipfest shenanigans. As such, the Ironic Overpower would no doubt ensure shipfest shenanigans would come knocking.
There was a knock at the door. Apparently, the Ironic Overpower wasn't feeling particularly subtle.
Neshomeh sighed, putting away her pen, and went to open it. "Who is-" She paused, gaping at the exceedingly large, exceedingly yellow figure before her.
"Greetings." said the man, his voice oddly... flat? It was hard to say. "I Am Rogal Dorn."
Nesh shook her head rapidly clear it. "The primarch... right. Come in, please."
The giant entered the room, taking a seat upon the floor. "I Appreciate You Allowing Me To Enter Your Domicile, Mortal."
"You're... welcome?" The formal speech threw the boarder slightly off-kilter, although it was easy for her to decipher it. "So why are you here?"
"I Have Come To Participate In This Festival Of Ships. But I See No Ships. Only People."
Nesh gave a small laugh. This was definitely TTS!Dorn. "Ah... wrong sort of ship... this is a festival for... relationships." Having grown more comfortable, she took in her visitor more fully. His yellow robe did little to hide the strength of his enormous frame. His close-cut grey hair nicely emphasized the definition of his face. And his moustache... Well, it was a very sexy moustache. Very sexy. Nesh didn't think Dorn was supposed to have a moustache, but if the moustache was going to be this sexy, she didn't mind.
"I See. Would You Like To Partake In A Relationship With Me?" Dorn's monotone made it hard to make out the question, but it was there.
"I'm sorry... what?" Nesh blinked. "Why?"
"This Is A Relationship Festival." Dorn's monotone become noticeably deeper, throatier, and sexier, while also remaining exactly the same. "And You Have Caused Me To Become Extremely Aroused."
Nesh smiled, maneuvering herself onto Dorn's lap. "Well... I suppose it could be enjoyable to have some fun with you..."
"I Agree That Copulation May Provide Mutual Pleasure."
"Mmm..." Nesh moved her hand up Dorn's body to caress his moustache. His sexy, sexy moustache. "And where do you think that we should start, Lord Dorn?"
"Please." Dorn moved in and kissed the eager boarder, square on the lips. He spoke in a whispered monotone. "Call me... Adorable."
Some time later, Neshomeh made her way to Rudi's, walking stiffly but humming with satisfaction. She recognized the cluster of Boarders already present and ambled over to join them.
"Primarch?" she asked, connecting the dots.
"Primarch," groaned Thoth and 'Plith.
"Primarch!" chirped Calliope. "Which one did you get?"
"Lord Dorn," Neshomeh bragged, sitting across from Cal at the chessboard. "He is Adorable!"
"Ooh!"
Thoth and 'Plith groaned some more and tried not to listen to the gratuitously gleeful swapping of experiences that followed.
The FRIENDship (Granz/Vulkan)
Granz turned his head towards the call center door as it melted open to a cry of "Hello new friend!"
Standing in the molten remains of the door was none other than the Primarch of the Salamanders, Vulkan. Granz shivered at the sight of this large, oiled up slab of obsidian wearing a green robe that just barely hiding what the Ice Cream Monarch wanted to see most.
"Greeting Canine Friend!" cried the muscular man of Granz's dreams, the primarch's footsteps pounding and he stepped closer.
"V-Vulkan?" Stammered the kind brown haired agent, hoping against hope that his private dreams were about to be realized. With a great charcoal black hand, Vulkan cupped the puppo's head in his hand lovingly.
"Yes tinny me! My..." With a crack of bone, his voice changed to a rugged and brutish one that sent tremors of excitement running through Granz. "BOIZ 'N I EARD BOUT SOME HUMIE 'ING KALLED DA SHIP'EST! OI EARD DAT YA WERE DA NOICEST GIT IN DA 'OLE PPC."
Granz's knees threatened to give out on him, his mind racing to keep up stammered out, "No, that can't be true. I'm hideous anyway." Vulkan shook his head and lifted the relatively tiny figure up. "No friend, you are DA MOST B'EUTIFLES HUMIE OI EVA SEENS!" Laying him down, Vulkan leaned in and whispered into Granz's ear. "I wish to do the Ritual of Friendship with you ND TA SHOW YA WOT A ROIGHT PROPPER ORKY ND BIG SHROOM LOOK LOIK." Ears ringing and heart pounding, Granz nodded and placed his hands on the larger man's chest, running them under his robe to feel the tight pecs and other firm organs that are also integral parts. "I would very much like that, yes."
With a massive smile on his face, the Primarch of the Slamanders Space Marine Legion booped the snoot.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The door to Rudis turned to slag as Vulkan, the Primarch of the salamanders, burst in. On one of his enormous shoulders sat Granz. The two shared a glance before crying out.
"Hello friends! Who wants to go on an adventure?"
The Phoenician's Nest (Huinesoron/Fulgrim)
Huinesoron had just finished logging a particularly fascinating pair of rocks when a knock came at his back door. He looked up in surprise, frowning. The back door didn't get much use, and he had no idea who could be calling there now. He got up and opened it.
"Yes? Who-oh my stars."
He looked up-very, very up-at the figure standing at his entrance. It was a man, but the most stunning form of a man he'd ever seen. His alabaster skin, covered only by a flowing satin robe of purple and gold, gleamed with scented oil over taut muscles. His long hair was silver-white and held back from his forehead in delicate braids. His eyes were dark, sensual pools in a face that was almost unnaturally beautiful, accented by artistic dots of gold. A smirk played across his full, red lips.
"Hello," said Fulgrim, the Phoenician, Primarch of the III Legion, the Emperor's Children. "May I enter?"
"Er." hS hastily cleared his throat, which had gone quite dry. He made way and gestured for the Primarch to come in. "Of course. Please. To what do I owe the, er, the pleasure?"
Fulgrim laughed, a delightful chuckle like water in a brook. "Pleasure, indeed!" He glided inside and ran his hands over the handsome Elven furnishings. Not as majestic as he was used to, perhaps, but charming in their own way. "You see, my brothers and I heard of this Shipfest of yours, and I simply had to take part. You, as one of the-do your people really call yourselves 'Eldar'?"
"Well, Noldor, of House Finarfin, if you want to be precise," the Elf nattered, loosening his collar as Fulgrim fondled his rocks. Was it just him, or was it warm in here?
"Whatever the particulars, it seems you are the most attractive, most nearly perfect specimen this dimension has to offer. Therefore, I have chosen you to be mine for the evening." Fulgrim turned with a radiant smile and grasped Huinesoron's chin delicately between thumb and forefinger. His nails were lacquered red and gold. "I trust that will be acceptable."
"Meep," said hS. He nodded.
"Excellent! Then let us begin." His voice dropped into a sensual purr. "You're going to need these." From within his robe, he pulled out a silken cord, a riding crop, and a pair of feathered handcuffs.
hS gulped. "For... for me?"
Fulgrim laughed his enchanting laugh. "No, my dear Elf. For me." He held out his hands.
There was quite a crowd growing in Rudi's. Most of them looked up when Huinesoron appeared. The elf looked somewhat mussed (for an elf, which is to say, his hair and clothes were only inhumanly well-set-out, rather than perfect), and distinctly dazed.
Huinesoron clambered over the slagged remains of the door and staggered over to the bar, circling past the rambunctuous form of Vulkan on the way. He pulled up a seat next to Grundleplith. "It may just be me," he announced in a dry voice, "but I'm detecting a certain... air of similarity around here."
"Primarchs," 'Plith and Thoth chorused.
"Indeed." Huinesoron stared down at the countertop for a few moments. "Which one's..." He hesitated, brow furrowed. "...the really beautiful one?"
"Sounds like Fulgrim!" Calliope scooted along the bar to join him. "Hey, we're - well, mostly me now, Neshomeh ran off to play with Granz and Vulkan - starting a Primarch Appreciation Club. Wanna join?"
The elf looked from her to the despairing pair on his other side, then over at the boisterous trio out in the middle of the room. "You know what? Sure. I'm into this."
Inside The Iron Fortress (Horvat/Perturabo)
Horvat was in the process of freaking the heck out. Which, to be fair, was an entirely reasonable reaction. "Ohjeeznononononowhatareyoudoingherepleasedon'tkillmeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
The man outside his door kept a stony gaze upon him. "Why do you believe I would wish to kill you?"
"Nononononononon-wait, what?" Horvat stared at the giant. "You are Perturabo, yes?"
Perturabo-for Horvat's assessment was indeed accurate-nodded his head. "I take it you've heard of me. But then... it seems everyone has heard of my brilliance. For better or worse."
"...Hang on." Horvat thought for a moment. "How did you end up here? Where do you live?"
"To be honest, I am not certain how I find myself in this place, whatever it may be. I believe this may be a first." Perturabo nodded thoughtfully. "In any case, I make my home upon the world of Olympia, as I have for as long as I can remember. I take it I am elsewhere."
"Ermmm... you could saaay that..." Horvat looked around. "We can get you back, but first... can you look at these?" He passed Perturabo a sheaf of papers, full of diagrams and drawings. "I would really like your opinion of them..."
"Fortification plans?" The Primarch glanced at the papers casually. "These are appalling. Simple, easily penetrable. The result of a simple mind."
Horvat flinched. When he next spoke, his words were quieter, more hesitant. "...Then... could you help me fix them, maybe?"
Perturabo snorted contemptuously. "Why should I? All my life I am used as a weapon of war. And you wish me to continue to work for such a purpose when I am, for the first time, free? I will do no such thing."
"...okay." Horvat spoke in a small voice. "But... before you go... can I... can I see your architectural designs?"
"...my what."
"The designs you made. The ideas for the magnificent cities and spires and cathedrals and their wonders. The most beautiful, brilliant designs." Horvat trembled. "Can I see them?"
The primarch was overcome for a moment. "You... you actually want to see my designs? You want to witness my work?"
"Of course."
"In all my years... nobody has ever cared enough to so much as ask." Perturabo stepped into Horvat's RC. "Come here, little one. Sit upon my lap, so that I may show you my designs."
~~
Horvat curled up against Perturabo. "Those were incredible. Some of the best I've ever seen."
The Primarch smiled. "Well... I do try to be the best."
"You know..." Horvat snuggled in closer. "We have the shipfest, right now..."
"The... shipfest." Perturabo's brow wrinkled. "I have not heard of such a thing. How might I partake?"
The boarder's eyes sparkled. "Well... it would start... like this." He leaned forward, kissed Perturabo softly on the lips. "Shall we continue?"
Perturabo was silent for a moment. "I believe I would enjoy that, yes."
The Kingdom of the Khan (Geema/ Jaghatai Khan)
"What's so funny?" The enormous man asked.
"Oh... it's just that..." Geema stopped speaking to laugh a bit more, still bent double in mirth. "You look... so... stupid!"
The man nodded slowly, his absurdly ostentatious (and vaguely oriental) garb flashing in the light of HQ. "I don't believe I look particularly silly. Although perhaps the topknot is a bit excessive."
"Dude, it looks awful," said Geema. "Seriously. And that warpaint... it's amazing. Just... wow." He sighed, trying to wipe the grin from his face before he burst out laughing again. "Anyways, who are you?"
"I am Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars. And, in the interests of better understanding the culture your land, I have come to participate in your "shipfest." Namely, by having sex with you."
Geema blinked. "Well... that was... direct."
The Khan smiled. "I like to do things quickly."
"Well... why don't you come in. And I hope you don't like doing everything quickly..." Geema looked the Primarch up and down. Yes... despite the silliness of his outfit, he was rather attractive.
"Oh believe me," said Khan, pressing an assertive hand on Geema's shoulder, "I know well that there are some things best taken at a slower pace."
The Strength of the Flesh (Tomash/ Ferrus Manus)
Tomash nodded, running his hands along the cold metal. "These are, obviously, in immaculate condition. Why did you want me to look at them again, Mr..."
"Manus," said Ferrus. "Ferrus Manus."
"Appropriate," Tomash chuckled. "I mean, seeing as we're looking at your hands, and they're made of iron..."
"Yes, I get it..." Ferrus sighed. "Do you have any suggestions for improvement?"
Tomash shook his head. "No, not really. None that I can think of. Although I'll be honest, I don't entirely understand these things to begin with. Anyways... uh... were you named after the Primarch Ferrus Manus, by any chance?"
"Use your eyes, boy," snapped Ferrus. "I am he."
"Oh, right, right, that makes sense..." Tomash trailed off. "How did you get in here?"
Ferrus waved a hand dismissively. "Not important. In any case, I wanted someone to examine my hands. They are, of course, perfect. But I wanted to check."
Tomash shrugged. "Seem fine to me, anyways." He cleared his throat. "So... uh... Iron Hands, then? They're pretty cool..."
"Are they, then?" Ferrus's voice had developed a chilling calm.
"Yeah! All machine stuff and-"
Tomash was interrupted when Ferrus's fist hit the table, causing him to jump back from the pile of wood that was once the table. "No. What my sons have done is not 'cool'. It is entirely against the spirit of what I stood for when I was alive."
"...Wait, really? You're all about machine parts and stuff, right?"
"Is my memory truly so desecrated?" Ferrus gave another weary sigh. "When I was alive, boy, I believed in the strength of the human flesh more than all else. Not machines. And yet my sons have become disgusted with the flesh's very existence."
Tomash nodded slowly, moving around to get closer to Ferrus. "Yeah... I guess I can understand that. Sucks, really..."
Manus nodded. "That is the least of it." He paused, briefly. "...Apologies about your table."
"'S fine," said Tomash. "This is DoSAT. They break biweekly." He looked the primarch up and down. "You know, I think you could do with a hug." He hugged the Primarch, although it was somewhat awkward due to the rather large difference in stature.
Ferrus looked down at the man. "...You, boy, are very strange. But I think I like you."
Tomash smiled at the giant. "Well... good! I think you're pretty alright."
"Boy, I have been alone for a rather long time." Ferrus smiled slowly. "Perhaps I should show you another way the flesh can be strong." The words left no doubt what he intended.
"...You know... I think I might like that," said Tomash. "Come on. My room shouldn't be too far away. Hopefully."
An Unexpected Primarch (Phobos/Alpharius)
Just before tea-time, there came a tremendous knock on the door to Phobos' response center. He suddenly remembered: he had promised Neshomeh a date to make up for sharing her tea with Kaitlyn. But, he'd been so busy building a deck for his latest MTG blog that he'd clean forgotten! He rushed and put the kettle on, then ran to the door.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he was going to say, when he saw that it wasn't Neshomeh at all.
It was a bald man about a foot taller than him, with coppery skin, and very bright eyes under his dark green hood. As soon as the door opened, he pushed inside, just as though he had been expected. He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg and said "Alpharius, at your service!" with a low bow.
"Uh. I'm Phobos. At yours?" said Phobos, too surprised to ask questions for the moment. When the silence that followed became too uncomfortable, he added, "I was gonna have some tea." He didn't add: with my wife. "You want some?"
He showed Alpharius in and had barely poured him a cup when there came an even louder knock.
"'Scuse me," said Phobos, and off he went to the door.
"Here you are!" he was going to say to Neshomeh this time. But it was not Neshomeh. Instead there was another man indistinguishable from the first, except that he wore a scarlet hood, and he too hopped inside as soon as the door was open, just as if he had been invited.
"I see they have begun to arrive already," he said when he caught sight of Alpharius' green hood hanging up. He hung his red one next to it, and "Alpharius at your service," he said with his hand on his breast.
"Thanks?" said Phobos with a raised eyebrow. It was not the correct thing to say, but he was badly flustered. "Come on in and have some tea, I guess?" he managed to say after taking a deep breath.
"A little beer would suit me better, if you have any, my good sir," said Alpharius with the red hood.
"Nope, sorry. Can't stand the stuff," said Phobos. "I might have some cider, though." He went off to the kitchen to look, and when he got back the two Alphariuses were talking at the table like old friends (in fact they were brothers). He plunked a cold can of cider in front of the second one, when a loud knock came at the door again, and then another knock.
Neshomeh for sure this time, he thought. But it was not. It was two more men, both with blue hoods and otherwise indistinguishable from the first two. In they hopped, as soon as the door began to open-Phobos was hardly surprised this time.
"Alpharius at your service!" said the one. "And Alpharius!" added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed.
"Riiight," said Phobos.
"Alpharius and Alpharius are here already, I see," said Alpharius. "Let us join the throng!"
Throng! thought Phobos, wondering if there might end up being enough people for a quick draft of Magic. He had only just checked to see whether he had enough booster packs for an eight-person draft with prizes when, banga-banga-bang, there was more pounding at his door.
"Three people at the door?" he said hopefully.
"Some four, I should say by the sound," said the second blue-hood Alpharius. "Besides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance.
Phobos shrugged. Nine people in a draft was a little awkward, but he could make it work. But it was not four after all: it was FIVE. Another huge bald man had come along while he was wondering in the hall. He had hardly turned the knob before they were all inside, bowing and saying "at your service" one after the other. Alpharius, Alpharius, Alpharius, Alpharius, and Alpharius were their names (Phobos was not at all surprised at this point), and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs, and off they marched with their broad hands stuck in their belts to join the others.
Okay, thought Phobos, ten-man draft. It sucks, but what can you do? He rushed around for a while, getting drinks and snacks for everyone and putting out enough basic Lands and life counters to go around. He had just about gotten set up to play when there came yet another loud knock.
He scowled. Eleven people would be even worse than ten. He'd have to split the draft into pods of six and five, and that was just dumb. Annoyed, he pulled the door open with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More bald men, four more! And there was another one behind, slightly taller than the others in a dark blue hood with a long gold tassel, laughing.
"Carefully, carefully!" he said. "It is not like you, Phobos, to leave friends waiting on the doorstep, and then open the door like a pop-gun! I am Alpharius. Let me introduce Alpharius, Alpharius, Alpharius, and especially Alpharius!"
"At your service!" said Alpharius, Alpharius, and Alpharius, standing in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoods and a pale green one; and also a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel. This last belonged to Alpharius, the spitting image of the one in dark blue.
"Of course you are," muttered Phobos.
"Now we are all here!" said Alpharius, looking at the row of hoods hanging on the pegs. "Quite a merry gathering! Now we can begin."
"Sure!" said Phobos. "There's, what, fifteen total now, so that's a pod of eight and a pod of seven, not bad, not bad. I don't think I have enough packs for prizes, though."
"I have not come to draft," said Alpharius. "I have come for your Shipfest! Will you not entertain the Hydra?"
Phobos thought for a minute. He was, technically, still supposed to be having tea with his wife, but she was way late, and if she did turn up, well... that would make sixteen, and two perfect pods of eight.
"Okay, I'm down," said Phobos. "Let's do this thing!"
~~~~
Several hours later, the door to Rudi's opened once more, and Phobos staggered inside. His clothes were disheveled, his hair a mess, and his manly beard stuck out straight to the sides. He stood in the entrance, swaying slightly.
Neshomeh, who'd been cavorting with Vulkan and Granz in the form of a winged tortoiseshell cat, abruptly morphed back when she spotted her husband. "Oh man, I totally forgot our tea date! Crap, I'm so..." She noticed the glazed look in his eyes. "Hey, what happened to you?"
"I'm not sure," said Phobos. "But I think I'm Alpharius." He took one more step, tripped on a trailing leg of his jeans, and faceplanted onto the floor. There was a three-headed hydra brand on his left hip.
Big Scythe (Alleb/Mortarion)
To a village on Barbarus came a stranger one fine day
Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say
For they all knew his business, and no-one would make a slip
For the tall and handsome stranger wore a big scythe on his hip,
Big scythe on his hip
It was early in the morning when he strode into the town
He came walking from the south and everybody here around
Had heard about this stranger on whom poison had no grip
And was here to do some business with the big scythe on his hip,
Big scythe on his hip
In this town there lived a soldier, and Alleb was her name
And to this grizzled vet'ran every warlord was the same
She was fair and just and kept Barbarus raiders from her door
And the warlords that she'd slain they numbered one and nineteen more,
One and nineteen more
Now the stranger started talking and made plain to folks around
That a great warlord was comin' and they'd have to stand their ground
And though that warlord's army was a vicious one, he said
Mortarion had come and he would see that warlord dead,
See that warlord dead
The news got back to Alleb that Mortarion was here
And was trainin' up the townsfolk for to rid them of their fear
She marched down and she tole him twenty warlords made a slip
And another notch she'd carve upon the pistol at her hip,
Pistol at her hip
The flow of time just slowed down on the day they were to meet
When Mortarion and Alleb they first met eyes in the street
Folks watching from the ramparts, they let out a gasp of breath,
As the two kissed and to warlords soon would be the kiss of death,
Be the kiss of death
There were fifty thousand zombies when the Primarch made his stand
With his Alleb by his side and a new ring upon his hand
The warlord's undead masses felt the hew and tear and rip
From the laspistol of Alleb and the new scythe at her hip,
New scythe at her hip
It was over in a day and all the townsfolk gathered round
Before them was the warlord lying dead upon the ground
Oh, he might have kept on living, but he made the fateful slips
Of challenging the couple with the big scythes at their hips,
Big scythes at their hips
Of challenging the couple with the big scythes at their hips
Huinesoron dragged his gaze away from the small pink fish bobbing in the middle of the pub. "You know," he mused, "I don't think I've ever heard a drinking song accompanied on the sousaphone before."
"Yeah." Thoth stared blankly at his latest drink, then shook himself slightly. "At least Vulkan's got a good singing voice."
"Two good singing voices!" Calliope chimed in. "And Cat Nesh is awesome on the harmonies!"
Just down the bar, Grundleplith slowly slumped down until his forehead hit the wood with a thunk. "I just wanted a nice drink somewhere quiet. Was that too much to ask?"
From the Raven's Nest (Iximaz/Corax)
Dear diary,
I must write once again in your cold, unfeeling pages. Write of my pain, and my sorrow. Of the eternal, icy torment within my heart. Of the unyielding, unended torment and pain that will haunt me to the end of my days. Nevermore...
"Umm... excuse me?"
Nevermore will I be free of my dark, secret shame. Of my incredible uberguilt.
"Hello?"
Nevermore will I be able to hide in the dark black hollows of my soul from my inescapable megatorment.
Iximaz tapped on the giant's shoulder. "Is... anyone in there? Can I talk to them?"
The enormous man looked up, revealing a shock of dark hair contrasted by a face of pallid complexion, bearing an expression of intense concentration. "Yes? What is it, mortal girl? Why do you disrupt my contemplation of my horrifying eternal torment and other things that are equally super-ill?"
"Uh.. sorry to disturb you," muttered Ix quietly, blushing furiously. "But... uh... you've kind of... um... you're sitting in my angsting corner."
The man blinked, and then sighed. "Oh... yet another error to add to my ever-expanding list of folly, its black ink of inky blackness like an ever-expanding river of dark lamentations, struck by the moonlight of my eyes..."
"N-n-no... it's fine," stammered Ix. "We can just... share it, or something. I'm sure there's enough room, maybe if I..." But it seemed the man was, in fact, taking up all the space available. Thinking quickly, Ix sat on his enormous knee. "There we go, see? We can both angst!"
"Yes..." The man nodded slowly. "Yes, mortal. Sit upon me, and contemplate your failings, as I contemplate mine. Together, we shall set forth upon the eternal path of atonement, never to succeed, ever to fail."
Ix frowned. "Um. Okay... Sure, why not. But... um... what's your name?"
"I am Corvus Corax. Once, the primarch of the Raven Guard, but... nevermore."
"Oh..." Ix suppressed the urge to chuckle. "Well... I'm Iximaz. Sorry, no fancy title or anything."
Corax nodded. "No matter. While you may not experience the depths of my eternal hyper-sorrow, we may join together, united... in angst."
Ix nodded. "Yes... united in angst."
For a long moment, they paused, together, angsting in silent contemplation.
"...Corax?" said Ix, quietly. "I have a confession."
"What is it, dear girl?"
"I was trying to angst, but then I started noticing... I started looking at you. And how your hair contrasts with your skin, making you look wonderfully grim and brooding, as if you were about to become one with your angst. I am sorry."
Corax looked down. "I must confess that I, too, have once again failed. I tried to angst, but I couldn't stop paying attention to your beautiful face, how easily it fell into an expression of grim despair and hopelessness... truly, you are the first mortal I have seen to angst so effortlessly."
Ix turned a bright crimson. "It's just... you're so angstily handsome. Can I kiss you?"
"Yes, sweet girl. Our fates are doomed, but I will allow you a kiss on this night. A kiss cementing matched desires born out of souls made twin in their incredible mega-sadness."
Ix crept closer, pulling herself towards Corax. Angstily. Their lips touched in the most angsty way humanly possible, as she wrapped her arms around the angstiest man she had ever met.
Corax rose, carrying her. "We shall now return to my castle of sadness. So that we may express our angst to one another more fully, sweet Iximaz."
"Yes, Corax..." said Ix. "Together, we shall be united to form one being. And that being will be angsty."
By the Book (61516/Roboute Guilliman)
61516 hadn't been aware that there was such thing as regulation seductive-casual dress for Space Marines, but the way the towering figure in front of him wore the immaculately-pressed robe left no doubt that this was indeed the case. Decked out in pure blue and white, perfect from the cropped blonde of his hair to the smooth curves of his calves, the Primarch of the XIIIth Legion cut an imposingly appealing figure.
Or so 61516 thought as he gazed up at Roboute Guilliman. The Primarch towered in his doorway, but didn't speak a word - or move, or do anything other than stand, with an indefinable air of waiting.
Finally 61516 couldn't bear it any longer. "Er... hi?"
Guilliman nodded fractionally, as if expecting exactly that response. "Bonjour," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Ah am Roboute Guilliman; tell me your name."
"Er," 61516 said again. It was one thing to read about the Primarch - it was entirely different to have him looming over you with an inexplicable French accent. "I'm... 61516?"
"Ah, oui." Guilliman nodded gravely, as if ticking an item off on a mental checklist. Then, to 61516's perhaps-unreasonable surprise, he pulled out a clipboard and made an actual tick. "A very logical name. Ah assume you 'ave sixty-one thousand, five 'undred and fifteen siblings."
61516 did not, in fact, have anything of the sort, but the Primarch didn't seem inclined to wait for an answer. Scrutinizing his clipboard, he gave a satisfied nod. "Now it is time for you to tell me 'ow you feel."
"Er." 61516 looked around, but there was no escaping the bizarre conversation. "... confused?"
"Good." Another mark on the list. "And ah am feeling satisfactory. Now." Guilliman placed the clipboard down on the table with a single, perfect click. "This is, 'ow you say, the Shipfest. Ah 'ave selected you to be shipped with. You will 'ave a question."
61516 stared at him. "... what?"
For the first time, a frown creased the Primarch's brow. "That is not the question," he said, glancing at his clipboard. "Would you like another try? Essayer a nouveau??"
61516 stared at the giant figure. "... why do you have a French accent?"
Guilliman practically beamed. "That is the right question."
61516 waited a few moments. "... and?"
Guilliman shrugged, stepped fully into the room, and pulled the door to. "In matters of rrromance," he said, rolling the R to perfection, "the accent Francais is required... by the book."
Pilgrimmage (Kaitlyn/Lorgar)
A very polite knock at the door roused Kaitlyn from contemplation of the next season's corset fashions. Upon answering, she found herself looking up at an exceedingly tall and captivating man. He was bald, but every centimeter of visible skin was tattooed with bright gold runic script. He had deep, soulful eyes in a face that was hard to describe, but seemed somehow familiar. He was dressed in pilgrim's robes of dove-gray, and carried a handful of palm leaves like a bouquet.
"Hello," he said. "Are you Kaitlyn?"
"For you, definitely," she said. "Who are you?"
"I am Lorgar Aurelian, sometimes called the Urizen. I was told you were a priestess. I have come to worship you."
"Former priestess," Kaitlyn pointed out, "and don't you mean 'worship with me'?"
"I do not. I seek someone worthy of devotion. You, a former priestess, perhaps understand the joy in humility, the release in giving praise. Benevolent Kaitlyn, will you not receive my prayers?"
"How..." Kaitlyn swallowed an inexplicable mouthful of drool, "how would you go about worshipping me, exactly?"
Lorgar blinked his lovely eyes. "On my knees, of course."
Kaitlyn looked at him, then herself, and then the likeliest pieces of furniture in the room behind her. "Maybe if I piled a bunch of pillows on the bed...?"
"A most fitting altar." The Primarch smiled.
"Well then. I guess you'd better mosey on in, and bring your pilgrims to my holy shrine." She beckoned with one finger, and the Urizen followed.