Philipii Prime
| Philipii Primaris | |
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 Frontier Imperial world | |
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Segmentum: |
Ultima Segmentum |
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Sector: |
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Subsector: |
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System: |
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Class: |
Agri World |
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Type: |
Major |
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Loyalist armies have descended upon the Traitor held world of Philipii Primaris, a stable gateway through the terrible Ruinstorm. With their hearts set on intercepting the Warmaster and his armies before they can reach Terra itself, the Loyalists will stop at nothing to take this world.
Meanwhile the Traitor forces are digging in, prepared to take the full force of this counter attack and blunt it, so that Horus' sacred task can continue uninterrupted. As the first contrails of Imperial dropships burn through the atmosphere, gauntleted fists are raised, and a single cry is raised in defiance: "DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!"
PhysicsType Large iron/silicate Mass 1.34 x 1453 kg Density 5.11 g/cm3 Composition 30.1% oxygen, 29.3% iron, 28.2% silicon, 9.1% titanium, 1.9% other metals, 1.4% other elements |
GravimetryGravity 15.78 m/s2 Escape Velocity 14.9 km/s Rotation Period 47.1 hours Axis Tilt 9.81 ° |
AtmosphereType Thick Breathable Pressure 81.13 kPa Composition 60.3% nitrogen, 21.3% oxygen, 16.4% argon, trace other gases |
Resolution's of the Battle of Philipii Prime
Resolution Part 1:
Zy'Tzev watched through the binocular vision zoom magnification of his goggles at a sight that, had his psychoactive training not robbed him of the emotion, would have filled him with fear. Horus Lupercal, Warmaster, Son of the Emperor and Archtraitor, battered aside a Mk IIB Land Raider with a contemptous backhand swing of his mace. The Land Raider flipped upwards on its treads before flipping backwards, metal bending and twisting as the tank's weight rested on an axis that was never meant to hold it. With a deafening crash the Iron Hands transport fell to the ground on what had been its top and burst into flames. Zy'Tzev watched without emotion, writing off the Iron Hands inside as dead in the tally of mathematical solutions his sniper's mind saw battle as. In moments though the sides of the tank ripped open as the Warmaster approached, and Autek Morr and his Terminators pulled their way free of the wreckage. Astartes carrying Plasma weapons disembarked from a Rhino as the smaller tank screamed forward, determined to defend the Iron Father to the last from the inevitable death that was about to face him. As he zoomed on the Warmaster's face he saw Horus' lips break into a smile that did not touch his black, burning eyes.
The Vindicare was brought out of his study for the briefest of moments as aircraft engines burned over him. An Iron Hands Fire Raptor was now descending on the Warmaster, the deadly Bolt Cannons on the prow beginning to spool up. Zy'Tzev's eyes snapped back to Horus, watching concentrated plasma and bolt shells rip into Horus' bodyguard and cut them down...but the Warmaster was untouched. His skin and armor rippled with unholy power, bulking his form beyond even post-natural means, shimmering with the very energy of the Warp itself. Whatever this thing was, it was beyond what Horus had been, and beyond the ability of mortal weapons to kill. Zy'Tzev snapped his hand to a small pouch on his belt and removed a capsule no more than 4 inches long. He pressed hard to his thumb, and felt the small DNA decoder key press the sharp needle home into his flesh, tasting his blood and keying green to unlock. He removed a single bullet; a shell casing holding the most valuable weapon in his arsenal. Every one of his Temple received only one such round, a round used to defeat things that no sane mind could reason existed. In his time trapped behind the Ruinstorm, providing his services to Guilliman until a way to Terra could be found, he had been tempted to use it almost a dozen times against the worst horrors imaginable, and some even beyond that. Now...he gave silent thanks to the Faceless Master and the God-Emperor Himself that he had always erred on the side of caution.
Horus was nearing Morr now, laughing a deep, booming chuckle that chilled the very marrow...but Morr and his Astartes stood resolute, firing their weapons until the barrels burned red hot. Zy'Tzev snapped his head up once more to find the Fire Raptor and then back to the Warmaster. He had time. His bleeding thumb snapped the round into the breach, and pulled his Exodus rifle up to firing position. The crosshairs zoomed in automatically with the mind link shared with the weapon, skipping down past Horus head and to the eye leering out from his chest. Wind adjustments keyed in and clicked, showing the direct firing line, but he ignored it. It was not needed, not with instinct. Instinct would always be far superior to any technological aid. He took a breath, let it out and held it out. Then, he squeezed the trigger. Horus' armor was hammered by a fragmented shell. Within the round was a tiny stasis field, surrounding a single drop of liquid. Specifically, it could be called a tear. The deadliest poison to the Warp Touched in the galaxy, severing their touch to the beings they called their Gods and burning their very essenses to dust. A tear of the God Emperor Himself. The tear smashed into Horus' armor, and the Warmaster glared in the direction of the Vindicare almost impatiently...and then his face curled into a rictus of agony as golden light burst from his chest. He screamed as the dark aura surrounding him faded for the briefest of moments...moments enough. Plasma bolts from the Iron Hands burned into him and the first bolt shells of the Fire Raptor's furious assault cracked his armor and spilled crimson blood to the dust of the ground. The Arch-Traitor fell to his knees as the assault continued, roaring as a plasma blast tore off part of his face and the attack run of the gunship battered him. He raised his claw to the sky and bellowed something. With a flash of light and a brief whiff of ozone he disappeared.
Zy'Tzev cursed under his breath and shook his head. He should have known better than to expect the Astartes to finish the chance to kill the Warmaster, and for his confidence in them Horus had escaped. Had he been faster he could have loaded another round into his rifle and ended the Heresy on this forsaken planet. He told himself that to feel better about the situation; nothing Warp Touched should have been able to survive the impact of that round. Nothing from that hellish realm could even stand the presence of it without withering. For the first time in his life, despite all of his training, he knew fear. Fear of what was to come if Horus reached Terra, and the Emperor.
Resolution Part 2:
Illumigrad, 1 day after the Triumph.
The cobalt Stormbird descended gracefully for such a ponderous craft. Rotating on its axis allowed the flanks to be seen, showing off the stylized "u" of the Ultima, symbol of the Ultramarines, resting on golden laurels. The craft continued to spin, almost lazily to reveal the rear disembarkation ramp. With the clunk of landing gear hydraulics the craft groaned and came to rest, the rear ramp hissing open with a burst of steam. Next to the ship several dozen other Ultramarines craft, ranging from more Stormbirds and Thunderhawks to smaller Storm Eagles, landed and disgorged ranks of Ultramarines, moving into ranked formation and snapping to rest with their bolters held to salute, barrels skyward as the weapons rested against their chestplates. This was in honor of the hundreds of Astartes in black and steel and black and white facing them. It was done in respect to the pale skinned giant waiting amongst his Raven Guard, his black mane fluttering in the wind, and to the almost machine like Iron Father standing amongst the Iron Hands. Mostly though, it was done in reverence to their sapphire armored master descending the ramp of the Stormbird, flanked by the watchful shield brothers of the Suzerain. The Honour Guard came to rest and brought their shields up, smashing their Legatine Axes against the shields to create a deafening crack, and with precision the Ultramarines around them in rank snapped their bolters to their shoulders in rest position at the exact same time as Guilliman passed their ranks. Both Corax and Morr waited with differening expressions as Guilliman approached. Morr's face was unreadable as his eyes flicked across the ranks of Ultramarines. Corax's face, however, was filled with an impatience bordering on disgust. "We have been fighting on this world for weeks now, you decide to grace us with your presence 24 hours after the Traitors turn tail, and you can't do it without throwing a military parade?" the Primarch of the Raven Guard grunted. Guilliman's face darkened before lightening again with a diplomatic expression."Not for myself, brother. For my sons and their pride at victory" He said, holding his arm out to gesture at his assembled Astartes. "You are absolutely right. You did indeed take the planet here, on terra firma...but my sons have been fighting a gruelling and terrible battle in orbit. The Traitor fleet had to be dealt with...and once the...allies...assisting us decided they'd rather fight on the ground, it was left to my Sons and I." He shook his head. "I wanted to be here...but I provided as much support as I could when I could. You know I would have confronted and killed that whoreson Lorgar myself if I could have Corax. My strategy worked, and you and esteemed Iron Father Morr were able to accomplish it beautifully. However my sons and I won the battle in the stars and we paid dearly for it...so please, do not belittle them." Corax gazed at Guilliman for a few moments before snorting and shaking his head."I do not know how you can sound congratulatory, patronizing, diplomatic, praising, and a complete arsehole at the same time." He said, extending his arm "I was heavily trained in politics." Guilliman said, his face a stone...before it cracked into a smile and took Corax's arm. Morr cleared his throat. "Victory conditions have been optimal with acceptable losses. However, despite all of this we were not expecting Horus' intervention, at least not so quickly." His augmetic eye glared ruby at the two Primarchs. "He escaped with his life, but we have proven he can be beaten, and we now threaten his flank. Traitor forces have escaped to the single moon orbiting this planet for reasons unknown, but disposition suggests they are digging in and protecting something. Their Mechanicum detachments are digging. Theoretically...they're preparing something or have discovered something to their advantage. Practically...we cannot let them accomplish whatever it is they attempt to do." Guilliman gave a small disapproving look at Morr, both for his impatient and cold tone as well as his clearly pointed use of theoretical and practical. "Of course we will. We need to fortify here first and as soon as we have gathered and resupplied we will launch our next assault...in the meantime..." His eyes slowly passed to a cloud of dust gathering on the horizon "We have a business transaction to finish."
Dark, beaten Rhinos bearing the colorations of different Traitor Legions as well as Loyalist pulled into the square, paying little heed to the dirt they churned up and covered standing Astartes with. The transports' symbols were covered and painted over with odd symbols that meant nothing to the Ultramarines' Primarch...and his lip curled ever more as loping bird like Xenos beasts galloped up behind the escort Rhinos as their ramps opened. Atop the beasts were Astartes, their forms covered in a motley assortment of stripped down and salvaged power armor. From within the Rhinos stepped Marines that looked much the same, fanning out with no apparent military organization or care to enact any. From the largest beast a warrior wearing the same motley assortment of armour dismounted, distinguished by his tattered cape and the long strange scythe he carried. Guilliman eyed the strange weapon, not made by the hands of man, as the warrior almost swaggered towards the gathered Primarchs, his warriors loosely following behind, watching the gathered Astartes with a mix of amusement and contempt that could be felt even through the lenses of their helms. The Reaver Lord bowed, almost mockingly, his hand crossing his chest in a flourish. "My Lords." He intoned, his voice holding almost the slightest hint of sarcasm. "Our agreement has been fulfilled. As per your instructions, we have gotten you in, you have taken the planet, and we will now collect our payment, as agreed. The material wealth of the planet, in the arms, munitions and technology held in the vaults of the former defenders of Philippii. We will collect...and we will leave. This war is yours, not ours." Guilliman's lip curled once more and he raised his hand. With lightning precision and speed, the ranked Ultramarines snapped their bolters to aimed position, hundreds of weapons cocking and aimed in a heartbeat. The Suzerain's axes flared to life, blue lightning rippling down the blades as the Hand of Dominion on Guilliman's left arm shrieked to activation, crackling with energy and life. The Raiders snapped their bolters up and aimed them around with precision; despite being pirates they were still Astartes. At this Corax and Morr made similar gestures to Guilliman and the Iron Hands and Raven Guard followed the example of the Ultramarines. The Reaver Lord held his hands out, seeming to gauge his chances and then shouted. "Stand down, you fools!" He yelled at his men. The Reaver Lord glared at the Primarchs and Morr. "We had a deal." Morr growled "You are in no position to negotiate, pirate. You are outnumbered, outgunned and outperformed. I can calculate a 1.1% chance that one of you is taken prisoner to die a horrible, painful death...and that will be the only surviving percentage."
Corax watched the pirates as they lowered their bolters...their muscles tensing and their forms preparing themselves to fight like caged beasts. "You disgust me..." he almost whispered "You have forsaken your oaths to the Emperor for personal gain while innocent people die without hope and Terra herself lies in the path of destruction." "We. Had. A. Deal." the Reaver Lord growled again. "We got you here, got you in...my men died fighting your enemies here on the planet because we HAD A DEAL!" he roared. Guilliman stepped forward and to his eternal credit the Lord didn't come close to flinching. Instead his ruby lenses fixed Guilliman with a glare that spoke volumes, even through his helmet. "We had a deal." Guilliman said softly, almost kindly...but there was a dangerous edge to it. "You fought where we needed you...but you did so as blackmail. Had I not agreed you would have run right to the Traitors here and made your deal there. You care nothing for the wider galaxy and I have no intention of honoring a deal with such selfish children. I have no desire to honor any sort of deal that will give weapons of such power to those who may use them against me and mine in the future...and I will not honor an agreement made in a time when no true choice exists. So...I will alter our deal to a price you will find most agreeable..a compromise, if you will." Guilliman stepped forward, a mere foot from the Reaver, who still did not move. Guilliman glared down at the renegade Astartes and smiled...a smile that did not touch his eyes. "Your payment is your life. I will not wipe your miserable, oath breaking, honorless kind from the galaxy and when this is over and Horus is brought to heel, I will hunt you down and give you one last chance to repent your oaths and suffer the judgement of the Emperor for turning your back on him. That is your payment. The only other coin I offer is death."
For moments the only sound was the wind itself, blowing gently around the scene before the Reaver Lord quickly turned and moved back to his men, mounting his Xenos beast as it cawed at him annoyedly. The Pirates slowly and professionally backed into their Rhinos, eyeing the gathered Astartes with an almost admirable readiness. As the Reaver Lord grabbed his reigns, he looked towards Guilliman, Corax and Morr once more. "I suspect we will see each other again, Lords of the Imperium." He snarled "And I have a long memory..." With a snap the beasts shrieked and galloped away, the Rhinos roaring after. In moments they were gone into the city beyond.
Resolution Part 3:
The Moon of Philippii, Caestum
Lorgar Aurelian stared at the page he had been writing in his book...his Magnum Opus...the Word of Chaos Undivided and the Eightfold Path...before tearing it and crumpling it into a fist. With the smell of sulphur the page erupted into flames in his hands before he smashed his gauntleted hands into a double handed fist and smashed the table he had been writing on. He gave out a furious roar that called to the very Warp itself, and the Warp roared back, gibbering with insane fury and mocking laughter. "WE ARE SO CLOSE!" He screamed "SO CLOSE AND NOW THOSE BASTARDS ARE SURROUNDING US ON ALL SIDES!" He kicked a piece of the table, and it flew across the room before splintering into pieces against the wall. He stood there, breathing hard, remembering Horus' voice in his head and the fury and disappointment behind it... "You have failed me again, Lorgar." "YOU FAILED TOO YOU ARROGANT FOOL!" Lorgar roared at the memory...and then closed his eyes, calling upon his serenity...his inner ability to calm himself. He was beyond this, beyond this childish rage. Rage and Hatred were great and powerful tools, weapons that could be used and even favored by the Great Powers...but not of this sort. Self pity would get him nowhere but disapproval...again. Always disapproval... He shook his head. How could Horus have blamed him? The variables had been set and manifest, the Ruinstorm a beautiful accomplishment born with Angrons ascension-screams. There was no knowledge he could have had that whatever was on this damned moon would give thrice damned Guilliman, the fool Corax or even the child-like Morr a chance to exit the Warp Storm without a scratch. No way he could have known that some bastard Pirates would have ships of the exact disposition needed to lower planetary defense...and no way of knowing that the Emperor's Children and their Primarch were so concerned with bloodshed and pain that they would abandon their command structure for the sheer joy of fighting and the ecstacy and wouldn't even listen to his plans. He wasn't a Warlord...he knew that. He was a Priest...THE Priest. But he had been the closest one of his brothers to the Word and the Plan, and so he had been the only one that could take command. Fulgrim, now a Daemon of Slaanesh, was too far gone to care about such trifles as this and with the increase of his arrogance due to his new form he would have languished in the war. Lorgar grimaced and bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood...he hoped Fulgrim had felt all the pain he desired when the Iron Hands had pulled him apart and sent him furiously screaming into the Warp to await reforming. He had never liked him anyway, the peacock. Most of all he felt shock beyond the anger, and an icy shard of doubt pierced his heart. Horus, even possessing the full avatar powers of the Gods as their Annointed Champion in this realm, had fallen, wounded to the point of retreat. He didn't know how...and whatever had been used against Horus the Neverborn refused to even speak of, much to his displeasure. This disturbed him more than he was willing to voice; would Horus be able to kill their Father? Was Chaos strong enough? Lorgar banished such faithless and blasphemous thoughts each time...but that icy shard of doubt remained.
As Horus' Sons had fled towards Terra, carrying his unconscious and bleeding form, Lorgar found himself the only Primarch left amongst his brothers able to turn and attempt to hold the vengeful Loyalists now channeling through the Corridor. The problem was, especially after the war lost on the planet below, he was outnumbered and reinforcements may or may not be coming. The loyalists, on the other hand...well, it was only a matter of time until that pompous ass Guilliman convinced Corax and Morr and whatever other fools they could find to join their assault. All of this while Sanguinius himself was en route to Terra and had slipped through as well. His faith gave him strength, but faith...felt like it was only taking him so far. His door slipped open without ceremony and a Machine Priest glided into the room. The former man appeared to be some cross between human, mechanical squid and beetle, his bottom form under where his feet would have been melded with a platform that extended out into 4 insectile mechanical legs. This Abeyant made the priest's eyes level with the Primarch as he skittered forward. Lorgar sighed. "How may I help you, Magos?" He asked, pushing down the rush of emotions as the Priests eye lenses flickered to the broken desk, zoomed in with clicking noises and shuttered lenses, and then re-focussed on Lorgar. "I have something you may be interested in seeing." the Magos said softly, before moving closer to Lorgar and holding out his hand, the cables and odd metals mixing with his flesh making the Primarch taste bile in his throat. Still, he held out his hand. The Magos released something, small and edged. It was a stone...but as soon as it touched Lorgar's hand the Primarch flinched and near collapsed, feeling his soul screech out and...drain? No, not that exactly. It was like being cut off from something that had always been there...like a sighted man becoming blind, or losing your primary hand. Lorgar tried not to retch and reached out to the Warp to steady himself and felt... Nothing. With a roar the Primarch threw the stone across the room before backhanding the Tech Priest. The man-thing only skittered sideways, rolling with the blow and then snapping back into position before Lorgar could even straighten himself. "My apologies. I did not expect the effect to be so profound. My calculations and projections were far off...this is interesting...I will adjust my cognitive parameters." There were several clicking sounds somewhere in what Lorgar assumed was his skull. "The effect would reason and explain the power of the effect elsewhere, assuming that..." "Magos." Lorgar whispered, wiping his mouth before standing, his tone dangerous "What did you just do, and what was that?" The Magos seemed to remember where he was and calmly nodded "You instructed us to find the source of the field stopping the Warp from shrouding this planet, creating the Corridor into the Ultima Segmentum. We have found, through our archaeological studies and the unfortunate decommissions of a great many tech thralls by some odd Xenos insectoid constructs..." Lorgar cleared his throat. "Yes. That is the piece of a Xenos Construct...construction date unknown but beyond carbon dating. Possibly billions of years old, pre-man certainly. These Pylons, as we are calling them due to their monolithic shape, dot this moon and create a field that is anathema to the Warp. A field that has no discernible energy source surrounds this area of space and will not allow any part of the Immaterium to exist anywhere near this moon, hence the small corridor."
Lorgar stared. He had heard of these things...heard of ancient wars with an army of...the dead... (that seemed to be the best translation of what the Daemons had spoken of to him) that could counteract even the powers of the Gods through their technology. Blind luck. Guilliman, Corax...Morr. None of them had some secret weapon. Nothing he had done had been improper...it was blind, dumb bad luck that one moon of one planet amongst millions in the path of his Storm had remnants of that ancient species...whoever they had been. He cursed and then glared at the Magos, who was standing there watching Lorgar's thoughts with expressionless patience. "Can they be destroyed?" "We must escavate them first, but the piece I gave you was removed by using standard blast charges from the very edge of one, so explosives and standard methods seem to work" The Magos nodded "Many, 90% are buried beneath the moon's crust and the settlements formed here. We will need time. If my Lord can defend the moon for long enough.." "Then we can destroy them and close the door right behind the Loyalists. Split them in half and turn the tables when reinforcements arrive." The Magos nodded "By my Lord's command" he crooned, before skittering off. Lorgar turned, glaring out of the plasteel screen of his command center at the glittering planet in the distance. Loyalist ships created a blockade, and he could see more exiting the Warp by the second. His own fleet floated above the moon, licking its wounds and preparing for war again. Reinforcements would come...Horus would order it as soon as he regained his health. Lorgar could hold, if his faith was strong enough. His faith had never been a weak thing. Now all that was left, was the will of the Gods. Lorgar turned his eyes from the planet below, lost now to his cause, and to the galactic Northwest. There he knew, a great Eye was watching him...the Eye of Terror as Perturabo named it...and no more fitting a name. What the Lord of Iron did not know...is the Eye and the Gods who dwelled there gazed back. He bowed his head in reverence. "Your will be done."
