They had been told, ever since they had entered the Legion of the Crimson King, that the Great Ocean was to be feared and respected, and that those that respected it would find it easier to travel. So it had been for a number of years, until now.
Captain Alim of the Thousand Sons' Battle Barge Great Traveller, and of the Legion's recently formed 23rd Fellowship, did not know what had changed. Like the other Thousand Sons who were scattered across the Imperium on the Great Crusade, he was finding it difficult to plough through the Warp to reach Prospero. The waves of the Empyrean were churning violently, and the Gellar Field around his vessel was barely holding her own.
At first it had been calm; but then, the closer he got to the exit point that would put him within a day of Prospero, it was like someone had flipped a switch, and the quiet ride became a great storm. The blast shields were down, saving the sensibilities of the human crew; there were things that resided in the Great Ocean capable of driving a normal human insane.
And, it seemed, not only a normal human.
Alim held onto the armrests of his command throne and cursed slightly as his vessel was buffeted, like some child's toy. He could barely believe the summons that had come from the Crimson King; his beloved home world was going to be attacked. He had thought for a moment that the Space Wolves had finally been unleashed against them, and tried to think what possible crime could warrant the sons of Russ coming to bring the Emperor's Justice upon their heads, or whether Russ had gone rogue from his hatred of psykers. However, when he had been told the Space Wolves were with them, he had been stunned like his warriors of the 23rd Fellowship, and wondered if his father had finally succumbed to warp madness.
There was no love lost between the Rout and the most psychic of the Legions; in truth, their animosity ran deeper then many believed, and there was nothing that Alim feared more then a Space Wolf in full frenzy. However, when he learnt who was going to be attacking his homeworld instead of Russ, he had still cursed thousandfold.
How dare the Red Angel and his deranged sons provoke an unwarranted attack on the beautiful world of Prospero?! All of it made him only more determined to ride this wave to the land of his birth. Angron and the World Eaters would find the sons and daughters of Prospero not so easy to cull. But there were whispers of more - of the Emperor having gone mad. And they did not come from his own Legion.
Magnus's own orders over the past year had been strange enough by themselves. After Nikaea, he ordered most of the Legion to retreat onto Prospero. Then, he saw something in the Warp, and hurried aboard the Photep to search for Horus Lupercal. Meanwhile, he divided each of the nine Fellowships of the Thousand Sons into five, while simultaneously ordering the release of all Tutelaries. The Thousand Sons did as their Primarch commanded (and certainly Alim did not mind becoming a captain), but there were whispers.
"We are through the worst of it, Lord."
His thoughts were brought back to the here and now, and he turned his attention to the human commander of his ship, responsible for the Great Traveller when he was not around. Admiral Acheri, a Terran-born man with an olive complexion, stood adjacent to him. Alim smiled at the eternal irony; Acheri hailed from the very land that Prospero drew its inspiration from. His bald pallet had a slight sheen from the sweat that was draining from his body. Alim nodded and rose from his seat. They were indeed through the worst of it, but there were still dangers in the Warp, and it would not do to be complacent.
"The command is yours, Acheri," he spoke before placing his helm upon his head. "Call me when we reach the jump point."
"Yes, Lord." Acheri bowed his head and took his seat. As the human gripped the rail before him, he found himself breathing a heavy sigh of relief, before beginning to co-ordinate with the Navigator. The last stage of the journey could hold as much terror as the main part. There were occasions when a vessel exited a jump gate to find themselves on a collision course with another ship.
He really did not want that on his conscience, and therefore began sending commands to ensure that the Great Traveller would not endure such a fate. Because it would not - not on his watch and not in his lifetime.
Alim glanced over his shoulders and took in the men and women working on the command deck of his bridge. He knew their names and he knew their backgrounds, and if they were to die against the ferocity that was the World Eaters, then he would ensure they were remembered with pride. Right now, he had drills to oversee. Still, he was relieved that they were approaching Prospero, and prayed to no one in particular that the remainder of their journey would be without further incident.
The Legend of D'seshara was like a shark cutting a path through tumultuous waters, focused not only on the prey ahead of her but on getting to join the great feeding frenzy. The honour her name carried was singular to the Captain of the 36th Company, who hailed from an Ice World of that name; they were on their way to return to D'seshara when they were rerouted to Prospero.
Captain Dietriech of the World Eater Strike Cruiser Legend of D'seshara narrowed his eyes as he saw the Thousand Son vessel ahead of him. He clenched his fist and forced his breathing to slow; he could attack here, but this close to her, his vessel would get caught in the backwash and - and he wished damnation on those Word Bearer pansies, who had told the World Eater command staff that the Warp would work for them, in a blatant lie.
He stayed just out of the Great Journey's sensor range and closed his eyes as he pictured what he would do, once he was able to strike without risking his own vessel. This would not have ordinarily bothered him, but he wanted like nothing else to make the planet fall to Prospero and inflict death and destruction.
He bashed his head with his closed fist to stop the whispering voices that had been constant in his mind, ever since the conclave aboard the Primarch's vessel, the Conqueror, where he had received modifications to the Nails. They were urging him to fire, to collect skulls for the great Skull Throne and draw blood for the mighty Blood God, even though the Nails were not whirring right now. Dietriech was slowly slipping into the second level of the madness that had beset his brothers, but he needed to remain focused.
None of the bridge crew dared utter any word to him; they had already heard what was happening to the human crew of other World Eater vessels who dared voice disquiet at their new orders. The World Eaters had always been violent in the way they carried out their battles, but they had treated their human crews with a modicum of respect. Now, they were liable to lash out at anyone that got on their nerves for the sake of it. Dietriech hated it, hated the second shift in the Legion, which would take it from the limit of control to a total lack of it. But there was nothing to do.
Sensor Officer Leraine Kelman nervously glanced over his shoulder and stammered, "L-Lord, there is another vessel behind us."
Dietriech slowly turned his gaze onto the quivering officer and arched a red eyebrow. "Is it another Thousand Son vessel or one of ours?"
"N – No, Lord."
"Well speak up and tell me who it is!" Dietriech roared, his already thin patience with the humans growing ever thinner. He gripped his axe, ready to dispatch himself of the annoying fly. Maybe then the voices would stop. (He knew that he was falling, to the doom that had engulfed his brothers. But he had known about the side effects before, had he not?)
Before the terrified Human could tell him, the Legend was buffeted by the shock wave of an attack. Dietriech roared his anger and took the head off the unfortunate officer, for being too slow in answering him.
"You take that station," he pointed his bloody axe at another human, "and you tell me who it is that is attacking us!"
Quickly, the officer leant over Kelman's headless body and read the data.
"Lord, it is a vessel of the Space Wolves…the Umbergora."
A feral grin spread across Dietriech's face. This was not the mission, but the voices didn't care, and by this point neither did he. "Now we shall see who the most savage Legion really is. Turn us about, and let's meet her head on. The witches can wait."
The crew did as they were instructed.
"Lord, they are turning to face us." Olga Streniof, the Helmswoman of the Umbergora scowled deeply as she read the screen below her eyes and then stared at the screen ahead of her. "Are they insane?"
Wolf Lord Anlaf sniggered, exposing his canines a little. "They are going to see which one of us is the better of the barbaric Legions. Vox - let the Great Journey know that we have their back, and shall join them shortly. Inform them that, if the wyrd flows smoothly, we will dispense of Angron's war dogs before he even knows what is happening."
"Yes, my lord." The vox officer, a young man by the name of Scarek, immediately carried out his lord's orders.
"Sergeant Dragfinn."
"Captain?" The voice of his senior sergeant came over the intra-ship vox.
"Prepare to board, and be armed for bear."
The Sergeant chuckled at his Captain's lucky saying and acknowledged his order. Anlaf turned to Admiral Dag. "Bring her to within boarding distance."
"Yes Lord"
"Lord," Scarek turned, "the Great Journey are asking if you require their assistance."
Anlaf snorted, his nose flaring at the mere thought of it, and his braided black hair moved vigorously. "The sons of Russ need no such assistance on this; we are allowing them the passage, to get to the jump point before Angron's puppies take them out. Tell him to carry on; the Rout shall take care of this impudent puppy and his litter."
He stopped by the doors that led off his bridge and saluted his bridge crew.
"May Russ guide your aim, gentlemen and ladies; and should we not all meet again, I will see you in the great wolf-halls, where we will break bread, eat meat, and drink mead until we are called to battle once more. But our foes, this day, are outmatched, and I believe we will meet once more before then. For Russ!"
"For Russ!" The crew roared and carried out their duties faster, with a renewed vigour that pleased the Space Wolf.
"Give them something to think about, Dag; give us the cover we require to get there without too much of a problem."
"By your command, Lord; and Lord?"
"Yes?"
"Russ is with you." Anlaf nodded briskly and stepped off the bridge.
Anlaf could barely believe what was happening. He had always believed that it would be the Rout that would take down the witches of Magnus, but here they were, working in harmony together. He did not like psykers who abused their powers. Their own Stormseers were respected, as they all took their power from Mother Fenris; they did not touch that which they were not meant to.
The Thousand Sons, whilst potent at what they did, did not know what the word 'stop' meant. Now, the ancient enmity between his father Leman Russ and his uncle Magnus seemed to have been buried. He wondered what must have happened between them for Russ to walk alongside his witch brother.
Indeed, he had seen the Cyclops on a number of occasions, and he was a terrifying figure when roused to war; but he had seen Magnus's weakness, knowledge, and that would be his downfall. The thing that caused a frown to crease the wolfish brow of Wolf Lord Anlaf was that, if The Rout knew this, then so might the Red Angel and his sons.
He kept his thoughts to himself for the moment, meeting his chosen warriors in the hangar bay. He directed them to their boarding pods and stared at the Dreadnaught that housed not only his company's champion, but his childhood friend: Enoch. Battle-Brother Loki Enoch had been cut down by the Eldar during the battle for Farogos Prime, but, in respect for the fact that his tactical acumen and his sheer charisma made him a mourned brother, the Wolf Priests had placed him in a Dreadnought, so that he would continue to serve the Emperor and the Legion.
"Enoch, old friend, are you ready for this?"
"I have my orders, Anlaf," the dreadnought boomed. "I wish I could go with you and see the hounds of Angron run like whipped puppies."
Anlaf rested his hand on the sarcophagus that housed his friend's remains. "In case they have the same idea, brother, I need you here to guide the new pups in the Company."
There was a murmuring from the Dreadnought which sounded like a begrudging agreement. "Mother Fenris be with you, brother."
"And Russ be with you, brother."
Enoch turned his massive frame to watch the chosen warriors of the 16th Company head for their boarding pods and wished them luck. Anlaf stopped midstride and turned to face Enoch.
"If we do not return, brother, destroy their ship, and join our kin at Prospero to avenge us."
The Dreadnought moved a little in acknowledgement and, turning, went to take his own post up. Several moments later, under a barrage of fire from the Umbergora, the assault pods launched and streaked towards the Legend of D'seshara.