Curze's Curse

The Eye that sees all

The expanse of the void had always been beautiful. For the voidborn it was the only thing they knew since birth, and for him, that had almost been his fate. To know only the stars they wandered through. Yet that would not be.

His birth had been heralded as a change. He knew that. Just like he knew from where his greatest gift came from. Talos Valcoran. It was thanks to him he had become a astartes, well, thanks to his geneseed to be precise, and Decimus knew why.

He was called prophet by some, the Prophet of the 8th Legion. Some even whispered that he would reunite the remnants of this broken legion into what it had once been.

He may have entertained that once, but since that day, when his visions had shown what he could only assume to be his Gene-father, things had changed.

He didn't know if his vision had been of the future, of the present, or even of the past. Yet he understood something.

The Nightfall's disappearance now made sense. Admiral Shang would only take it if he truly believed it was worth angering the entirety of the 8th.

Even broken into multiple warbands, the Primarch's Glorianna had always been a strong symbol. It had always been the site where the Legion gathered for the few talks they held. A respected symbol, that housed the fruits of the very last time the Legion had gathered.

He personally had not met the Nighthaunter, but even in his death, the Legion had never forgotten him. A crude irony, if what his brother's had told him. A Primarch that hated his sons more than anything else, had been loved by his own after death. What an Irony.

Well, not all loved him, after all Skraivok had always been known to hate him, and his downfall to chaos had but empowered the position of those that had followed Curze's stance about the Ruinous Powers.

To rely on a power not of your own was the greatest weakness one could have.




It did not matter. Things had changed since then. Things had changed considerably, and he had called a meeting between all the warbands. Yet the Nightfall was missing so, such a meeting had to be convened in the next best place. A place with meaning, and reverence by all the Legion. A Homeworld could only fit that bill. Many still remembered Nostramo, but their father had made assurances that none of them would ever step on its soil.

Yet no soil was needed, the symbol was all that mattered. And he was a symbol. The Last Prophet, heir of Valcoran's 10th Company. He was a symbol. A weak and young one but still a symbol.

And so at the edge of the great eye's void, where the raw stuff of chaos slowly gave way to the natural order of the galaxy, a meeting was due to take place.

Decimus held little respect, he was young. And every other warband held lords who had seen Konrad Curze walking in the star-filled Galaxy.

He was alone, except for the slaves that toiled the lower decks of the Echoes of Lament, an old but reliable Strike Cruiser of the Adeptus Astartes. He was Lord of Mortals and Master of a most venerable instrument of war, yet alone and unfollowed Astartes he was. He was a Warlord alright, Lord of four lords of night. Lord of exiles and survivors.

Yet still his ships sailed through the immaterium, to the meeting point. For four weeks his ships swirled through the unpredictable currents of the warp, and then only then, he resurfaced on the frontier of the great eye.

There waiting already stood the many ships. An armada of venerable weapons of war as old as the Imperium, of those Nightmare of Celyx, Battleship of Naraka the Bloodless who under his command stood half a dozen of smaller escort vessels, the Voidmaw and the Umbrea Insidior, venerable Vessels of the 8th Legion.

In the coming weeks, more and more vessels joined this fleet. An Armada in the making by virtue of rumours and whispers from their last Prophet. Yet it will not be through whispers that the Prophet would unify the Legion.

The vox chatter rose with each ship that arrived. Nostraman being spoken by tens of thousands of individuals at the same time.

When it was clear that no more 8th Legion Warbands were going to join up. The preparations for the meeting were swiftly done, not that it means much as the 8th cares not for ritual and honours much. Yet a ship had to be decided.