Sorry for the delay. Writing a fanfic with my thesis deadline looming over the horizon isn't exactly the best idea I've ever had. In any case...I hope you enjoy this.
Men from Terra
Brand was paralysed, staring up at the giant warrior. Everything about the giant threatened violence, and the constant trembling was about the only form of movement he could manage.
"Well?" boomed the giant. "Where is your courage little man? Speak, or must I see if you've swallowed your own tongue?"
Brand still could not reply as the giant glared down at him menacingly. The giant leant down towards him and he found himself holding his breath, certain that he was about to have his throat ripped out by the intruder's unnatural fangs.
But then, Brand found his courage and his voice.
"S...sir," he managed to croak out. "I...I...I demand that...you surrender to the...to the...to us."
The giant paused, staring down at Brand with something akin to surprise on his savage face. Then, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"The nerve of this one!" boomed the giant warrior. "I was certain that you were going to piss yourself, but then you still manage to squeak out some defiance! Hjolda! You've got a spine alright!"
Behind him, his warriors were also barking with laughter, the mirthful sound even more menacing than any growl or battle cry. Behind them, the nine warriors that had landed earlier were silent, as still as statues.
"Yes, you've got a spine," said the towering monster, his chuckles edged with a growl. As swift as lightning, he unsheathed the mighty broadsword on his back and held the blade inches away from Brand's midsection. "So how would you like me to sever it?"
Immediately, the Tempestan soldiers had their weapons trained on the giant warrior, the only thing preventing them from firing was the fact that their commander was between them and the intruder.
"Sir," said Brand in a calm voice that quavered ever so slightly. "If you don't surrender...your...your arms...we will...will open fire."
The warrior grinned. "Then you'll have to open fire, because the men of the Rout will never surrender their weapons. But I assure you little man, that would be the gravest mistake you'll ever make...and your last."
"What...what do you want?" asked Brand desperately.
"You already know what," answered the giant, jerking his head back to where the nine warriors behind him stood. "We will meet your leader."
"But that's...we..." stammered Brand. "That would take time!"
"We can wait," replied the warrior, grinning, his fangs gleaming in the faint Tempestan light. "We're not going anywhere."
Before Brand could reply, a great cry rang out from above and the great, majestic form of Garuda descended from the Storm, landing just behind Brand as the Tempestan soldiers scattered to make way for the Storm Eagle. On his back was Thorondor.
The Storm Lord had arrived.
II II II
Firiel had watched from afar, clutching the arm of the soldier who had accompanied her tightly. She had admired Commander Brand's courage in the face of such monstrous exaggerations of humanity. That Brand had managed to speak out against the giant intruders' leader despite the violence and aggression radiating from his every being was testament to Commander's devotion to his duty.
But still, Firiel had known deep in her gut somehow that if fighting were to break out, many Tempestan lives would be lost even if they could take down the giant warriors.
But even if they did, Firiel strongly doubted any weapon they had could even harm their savage monster of a leader. She knew instinctively that he was a being apart; far above the brave soldiers of Tempestas and even his own warriors. While he terrified Firiel, there was something in his presence that was very familiar, a sort of otherness that she had only felt from one other being.
Thorondor.
But where Thorondor filled everyone with a sense of assurance, safety and confidence, the monster towering over Brand threatened death and destruction with every fibre of his being. His mere presence, even from distance had Firiel's heart beating so hard from fear that she thought she was going to pass out.
The tension in the air around her was palpable; every soldier had their fingers tensed on the trigger of their rifles. Firiel willed them not to fire, to stay calm. Above all, she wished Thorondor was present.
As though hearing her wish, a great cry rang out from the Storm, startling everyone, including the invaders. She had seen Garuda emerge from the Storm, and the familiar form of Thorondor could be seen on his back, his dark hair loose and billowing in the wind as he and his mount descended, landing with an earth-shaking force right behind Brand, scattering the Tempestan soldiers and sending the commander to his knees.
Even the monstrous warrior took several steps back, baring his teeth in a snarl at the gigantic Storm Eagle.
From Garuda's back, Thorondor looked over at the Tempestan soldiers and his eyes found Firiel. She could relief on his face before he turned back to the invaders, dismounting with his glaive in hand. But the look on Thorondor's face had chilled Firiel to the bone. Her son wore the smile that had become so characteristic of him, but it had the same menacing quality she could only remember once.
When Thorondor had massacred the raiders who had attacked Left Peak decades ago.
II II II
The Storm Lord had arrived. Brand knew the greatest hero in the history of Tempestas was right behind him.
The thought comforted him somewhat, but he felt as though he was trapped between two great forces of nature, threatening to collide with each other and utterly annihilate him along the way. Being within striking distance of Garuda's beak didn't help either.
He felt a huge hand on his shoulder and slowly turned to look up into the face of the Storm Lord. Thorondor was smiling down at him, though his grey eyes were filled with tension and barely contained anger.
"Thank you, Commander Brand," said Thorondor. "Go back to your men, I will deal with this."
The Storm Lord's words released Brand from his paralysis and he managed to wobble back to his men, trying not to run and taking great care to skirt around Garuda.
Thorondor strode forward until he was face to face with the giant, and face to face it was, for the other warrior was exactly the same height as Thorondor. The two of them faced each other, the other warrior with an insolent grin on his face and Thorondor with a menacing smile on his.
"Who are you, then?" asked the warrior.
Thorondor raised an eyebrow. "Courtesy dictates that the intruder names himself first."
"Ha! I haven't run you through with my sword," answered the warrior. "That's courtesy enough."
Thorondor's menacing smile widened. "It's a good thing you haven't harmed anyone here. Or else I would have had Garuda tear you apart on the spot."
As though echoing his partner's sentiments, Garuda screeched at the intruders, making them back away.
Except for the warrior standing face to face with Thorondor. Instead, his grin widened even more.
"Need overgrown birds to fight your battles for you, then?" he sneered, jerking his head disdainfully at Garuda. "I've slaughtered many a hrosshvalur bigger than that."
"If you say so," answered Thorondor, tightening his grip on his glaive. "Then you shouldn't have too much trouble with me."
Thorondor signalled with one hand and Garuda took flight, circling above while Thorondor took a step back, whirling his power glaive into a combat-stance. The other warrior took a step back and drew his own sword.
"Come then," said the warrior, baring his fangs in a snarl.
He leapt at Thorondor, and the duel began.
II II II
To the soldiers watching, the duel was like the dance of two warriors who had attained perfection in the art of combat and killing. Each blow was struck with the intention to kill, and each one was parried, dodged or thrown back by the other. The Storm Lord channelled his barely contained anger at the interlopers for threatening his people into a deadly ballet of powerful grace while the other warrior fought with seemingly unchecked aggression, like a beast darting in and out for the kill.
Every blow by the warrior was thrown back by Thorondor, followed by a killing blow which the warrior would throw back and follow up with his own killer blow, which Thorondor would throw back. It was a breathtaking cycle with neither warrior able to gain the upper-hand.
After what seemed like an eternity, both warriors broke apart and circled each other. Both had surprise and grudging admiration on their faces; neither one had expected the match to be so closely contested.
Thorondor darted forward, intending to use the superior length of his glaive to cut the warrior from afar.
Ducking under a blow which would have decapitated him, the warrior leaped for the kill, aiming for Thorondor's unguarded torso. The people of Tempestas cried out to Thorondor in warning.
With incredible speed, Thorondor whirled his glaive around into a parry. The force of the blow rang out throughout Left Peak as Thorondor whirled his glaive around into a killing counter-blow. The other warrior parried, but the force of the blow sent him staggering back.
Seizing the opportunity, Thorondor leaped forward, raising his glaive to separate the warrior's head from his shoulders, but the warrior recovered and parried the blow, the Storm Lord's blade inches away from his head. The two warriors strained mightily.
"You fight well," said the warrior, grinning.
"As do you," answered Thorondor, smiling. "I would have your name before I kill you."
The warrior ignored Thorondor. "There is no doubt then."
With a sudden surge of strength, the warrior shoved Thorondor back, making him stagger. Thorondor recovered, instinctively raising his glaive to guard, knowing that any worthy warrior would seize the opportunity to attack.
His foe's blade broke through the guard and slashed Thorondor across the chest. The Storm Lord staggered back, clutching his wound as the Tempestans cried out in horror. Some of them surged forward with their weapons at the ready.
"Hold!" roared Thorondor, his voice like a clap of thunder. The Tempestans halted as though running into a shield wall. "Do not interfere; he is mine."
Thorondor looked down at the wound on his chest, which was already healing, taking in the blood that had splattered down his armour.
He looked at the other warrior in the eye. "You're the first to ever spill my blood."
"You don't seem to be too upset about it," answered the warrior with a grin.
Thorondor's smile widened. "It's good to test myself against a strong opponent."
Without warning, Thorondor leapt forward, his glaive slashing out. The other warrior parried, but Thorondor pressed his attack, raining blow after blow which forced his opponent to focus only on parrying, not giving him any chance to counter attack. With a particularly vicious blow, Thorondor broke through the other warrior's guard, forcing him to stagger back.
The warrior looked down at his chest to see a slash on his armour that had cut all the way through, leaving a thin trail of blood across his flesh.
"Not deep enough," remarked Thorondor, raising his glaive into a defensive stance, expecting the warrior to attack.
Instead, the invader stabbed his sword into the ground and let out a harsh bark of laughter.
"There is no doubt then," said the warrior again. He looked over his shoulder to where the other giants were. "Asghar! This is he! I doubt it can be anyone else."
One of the giants, the leader of the first group strode forward with his men. As huge as he and his men were, the warrior with the wild mane was taller still.
"My lord," said the leader, and to the surprise of Thorondor and the Tempestans gathered, his voice was trembling with emotion…awe? Joy? "Are you really certain?"
"Yes," answered the warrior, leaning on his sword. "Only another one could fight well enough to make me sweat…and even bleed a little"
Thorondor rested the haft of his glaive on the ground. "A little longer and I would make you bleed a little more."
The other warrior laughed, the sound edged with a wet-leopard growl.
The other giants marched forward until they stood before Thorondor; the leader standing in front of his men and the others spread out in a line behind him. As one, they removed their helms, the armour-piece coming off with hissing sound.
Human faces looked up at Thorondor, bigger, brutal faces, with hints of gigantism, but still clearly human. Their faces were all filled with awe and joy as they gazed up at the Storm Lord.
Their leader, a scarred man with close-crop black hair, a neat beard and moustache around a hard mouth with metal studs on his brow gazed up at Thorondor with dark brown eyes; which, to Thorondor's astonishment, was filled with tears.
As one, they kneeled before him.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Thorondor, confused.
"My lord," said the leader. "Long have we searched for you among the stars. Long have we waited for this day."
"The stars?" repeated Thorondor, his brow furrowing as his confusion deepened.
"Yes, my lord," answered the leader, looking up at Thorondor. "We come from Terra."
Terra.
In ancient Tempestan mythology, Terra was known as the goddess who was the mother of Tempestas herself. The myth tells that as Terra had lain dying, threatening to bring all life to an end with her, with the last of her life force, she gave birth to Tempestas, so that life may carry on with her daughter.
As the millennia went by, the people of Tempestas came to revere the goddess that their world was named after over Terra, who was eventually reduced to a minor deity.
"No, Terra does not exist; it-she is a myth," said Thorondor.
"Nay, my lord," said the leader. "Terra, the birthplace of humanity exists. The birth-sphere has survived Old Night; and it is now the heart of the Imperium."
"Old Night? Imperium?" echoed Thorondor. "What are you talking about? Who are you? Why have you come here?"
"Forgive me, my lord," answered the leader. "I should have introduced…"
"Stand when you speak to me," demanded Thorondor.
The giant obeyed and stood. He drew himself up to his full height, but was still far shorter than Thorondor.
"I am Asghar; Master of the Second Legion Astartes," he said. He gestured to the warrior leaning on his sword. "This is Lord Leman Russ, Primarch of the Wolves of Fenris, the Sixth Legion."
As Asghar spoke, the words seemed to unlock something within Thorondor. He dimly remembered a face; so unremarkable yet remarkable at the same time peering at him with eyes that have seen ages beyond living memory. He remembered a gentle voice that resonated with power far beyond that of any mortal man. He remembered the voice whispering of his destiny, his purpose.
"Legion?" whispered Thorondor.
"Yes," answered Asghar. "We are the Astartes, the chosen warriors of humanity. We travel the stars to bring Enlightenment to all the lost strands of humanity and bring them back into the fold of the Imperium."
The implications of what Asghar was saying were not lost on Thorondor, but he wanted to know something else.
"And what is a Primarch?" he asked.
"The mightiest warriors and generals ever created to lead the Legions," answered Asghar, bowing his head to Thorondor. "We search the stars looking for them. Now we, the Second Legion, have found our Primarch."
"Me?" whispered Thorondor.
Asghar nodded, a smile of pure joy on his face. "Yes, my lord. We have hoped for this day since we first set out from Terra decades ago."
It can't be true. Thorondor was Tempestan born and raised! He had grown up beneath the Storm along with everyone else even though he…
Whether you came from the sky in an aircraft, or born of a woman…
You weren't…born. Not as we know it…
He wasn't born on Tempestas. With a growing feeling of horror, Thorondor was starting to feel that he hadn't been born at all.
"You said the Primarchs were created?" asked Thorondor slowly. "Who created the Primarchs? Who created…me?"
The warrior, the other Primarch, Leman Russ responded first. "The Allfather."
Asghar nodded and looked Thorondor in the eye before he answered.
"The Emperor of Mankind. Your father."