Hello and welcome to my first publicly shared story based in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, well actually its a slight different Wk40k universe. In this interpretation of the Grim Darkness of the Future, there were no lost Primarchs, and all twenty of the Emperor's genetically tailored sons took part in the Horus Heresy. This story is the first of my own take on what would have occurred with the two missing legions and their Primarchs. I decided to started with the IInd Primarch as that was my first original character that I created once I got into the series, and hopefully you guys enjoy this tale. My take on the IInd Primarch is largely inspired by various Celtic myths, from Irish, Wales, Gaelic, and Scottish.


Prologue

Many of my brothers grew up either completely or partially unaware of the truths of the cosmos, and perhaps I will be haunted by that hidden truth until my dying days. In truth, there was only one brother I could say for certain was aware of these truths, though we shared a bond rarely shared amongst the others, he is still distant, and I fear he always expects my blade aimed for him. Yet, such is Jagahati's nature I am afraid, but I never have nor will I hold it against him, for he is my brother. I also fear that this record will be the only accurate telling of my life, and on some level I wish that I still had a bard or two to convey it better. While I am no slouch in the bardic arts, it has never been my greatest strength, indeed those gifts belong to Guilliman and Lorgar. However, one of my own had recently convinced me to pen this chronicle so that the memory of my deeds do not completely fall into the trappings of mythology. Yet, I will honor my pact with the Emperor, hence why this record is sealed behind my own personal security measures, and I am confident that only he or the Sigillite could break them. I leave these records for the future generations of my legion, or any trusted enough to research and dissect the truths of our Imperium.

I am Arwyn Clay, a son of the Emperor, one of the twenty Primarchs created from his genome, and I command the II Legion of Space Marines, the Bale Hounds. Like the rest of my brothers, I was stolen from our Father, and sent to mature upon the surface of another world. I landed upon a world that would shape me similarly enough to that way that the Lion, Warhawk, and Wolf King were molded by their feudal worlds, the beautiful Arcadia. Yet there are noteworthy differences, for I retain my foster mother's maiden surname, Clay, the Clays were a long and distinct line of pure shamans or derwydds. I retain the surname even now as it reflects well my stance and purpose amongst my brothers, for although my own mystic abilities pale compared to Magnus the Red's, I like to believe where he is pure psychic might I am pure psychic discipline. Perhaps that is arrogance, but we will never truly know unless me and my brother duel, and to be honest I have no interest in seeing which would win out raw strength or iron clad discipline.

Too many of my brothers find solace in the notion of perfection, whether it is Fulgrim, Rogal, Roboute, or Perturabo, they think their plans or creations are perfect, that they can out plan or out think their foes and most of the time they are correct. Yet I will never claim such a thing, for that would both insult and underestimate those I wage war against, and truly there are a handful of foes who have earned my hatred. My hatred is something difficult to earn, but there are two races that stand out, the Orks have earned it for their relentless and unending savagery, and the Drukhari's desecration of my homeworld has forever earned the fury I keep in regular check. In all other foes, I almost always find something to admire, in other human civilizations that resist the Imperium, I find their resolve admirable, and in the Craftworld Eldar I admire their discipline. Each foe we face is always capable of earning a fraction of my respect, but only when their blades clash against my legion. While I hated even the whored warlocks of my homeworld, I always respected their military and mystical powers, even when I delivered their end with my blade.

Such simpler times those days, when I was a warrior, focused solely on liberating one city, or one bastion at a time, and reestablishing the clans of Arcadia. Perhaps that is where I should begin my tale, as those early days were perhaps my first true "crusade" and somehow I had managed victories against truly unrelenting foes. I had forces at my command that represented the best of my world, and they followed me loyally knowing I would never ask them to do anything I was unwilling to do myself. For despite the leagues of differences between my peers and myself, I always considered myself as one of them, and while I cannot deny that such belief has caused me anguish, it has given me strength and humility. There were many whispers as to my origins, some believed me to be a savior since I had been found in the Pure Black Forest, an oddity of plant life that repels warp creatures, while others suspected I was another trapping of the dark ones. The reclamation had been waging for countless generations before my arrival, and so the peoples' weariness was well justified. Yet, I was given a chance by my mentor, who had been missing some years before my Father's arrival, and was inducted into the war for reclamation.

Back then, I was merely a warrior derwydd of the Wild Hunt, an order of shamans and warriors who united under the idea of liberating Arcadia's cities and people from mortal slaves of the ruinous ones. I am sure Roboute or Rogal could accurately recall the number of years of persecuting foul cultists and black sorcerers, but in truth my mind had been preoccupied with plans for war, honing my psychic gifts, and recruiting more to my banner. One by one, the cultists fell, their hellish icons destroyed, and otherworldly allies were banished from Arcadia's surface. Then we began hunting the sorcerer kings and the warp gates they drew power from, and killing the eijets before destroying the ancient gates. The first sorcerer king, Glyphir, believed himself the Dark One's greatest champion, using all manner of black sorcery, but he was never in control of the powers he had gained. His flesh had swollen, looking like a poor imitation of a human, his form was misaligned and one of his eyes had bloated twice the size of the other. I thought it merciful when I burned out parts of mind and soul with bale fire, before ending the waking nightmare he lived, as I knew the truth of the masters he shackled himself to. They only desire our subjugation, destruction, and eternal worship of the individual aspects of life they represent in a warped parody.

After the destruction of Glyphir's small kingdom, the council of elders granted me full military control of the Wild Hunt, along with the rights to build a keep near the Black Mountains of Elathin, an honor that had not been seen since the Hunt's inception, and they had bestowed it upon me. It was then that I knew I had truly earned not only their respect, but the full weight of their trust and hopes. With the dismantling of the sorcerer kingdoms, we offered certain mercies to those "nobles" who had not fallen to the full sways of corruption, the surrendering of their title, lands, wealth, and armies in exchange for their lives being spared. Any that found these terms disagreeable met swift ends, and most that accepted lived honest lives, yet there were three families who sought to…entice my favor.

They offered up unwed daughters to become my brides, and while I was disgusted by the idea of parents offering up their children as bargaining chips, I was advised to accept the women. So I did, but I gave their families the smallest of favor, allowing them to retain only their ancestral armories, while I strove to provide better lives for my three brides. I remember well the shock upon their faces when I presented them each with their own quarters within Annwn, my fortress, and gave them free reign of the castle so long as they did not interfere with the derwydds or military matters. Eventually I would come to love them, for each was far more intelligent than their families had originally thought, their wit and tongues were nearly sharp as blades, and so I would grant them their wishes of intimacy whenever I was able to. I recall the final time I was able to grant them that wish, for the following day would change my life forever.