Chapter Text
“Declare your characters.” and so the Emperor decreed.
“Warforged Paladin, Oath of the Crown.” said the Dread Host.
“Warforged Paladin, Oath of the Crown.” said the Hetaeron Guard.
“Warforged Paladin, Oath of the Crown.” said the Emissaries Imperatus.
“Warforged Paladin, Oath of the Crown.” said the Captain-General.
+ ...Malcador, bring me my sons, the Custodes can’t play worth a grox’s skull. +
“Noted, my lord.” The Captain-General gave a curt bow, motioning for the other three Custodes to join him. The Tribunes rise without a word, mutely accompanying Valdor on his way out. “Shall we bring refreshments too, my lord?”
The Emperor’s response, while cold, was instantaneous. + Get paper, you overgrown banana, and get out. +
~
“Leman, why is your strength in the 20’s?”
The Wolf King proceeds to explain, in depth, the reason why his strength was in the 20’s, by arguing that if his character was based on himself, thus anything he can do should also be possible for his character. He does so through the elaborate demonstration of explaining he can, in fact, commit a major hip throw on three Custodes(one of whom was the Captain-General), at the same time. Valdor, who returned bringing a tray of refreshments, was decidedly unamused. Sanguinius asks if blood was on the menu(it was not).
The Emperor sighs, and gives Russ the greenlight. Russ gets allowed to keep his character’s Strength and Valdor gets extra hazard pay for being chucked by a Primarch. No apologies were made for Valdor.
~
“Roboute!”
Guilliman’s pen jolts as he was briefly surprised out of his extensive character spreadsheets. “Yes, father?”
+ Do you even have a character concept yet? +
“No, father.” The Primarch of the Ultramarines responds. “The spreadsheets for optimizing the dice pools is 35% short of completion-”
+ Noted, noted, FULGRIM! No, I don’t care how many men, women and Eldar you’ve slept with, I refuse to allow you to play Bard. +
“But Faaaaather…!”
Valdor, still standing around as the local refreshment dispenser, sighs.
~
Sanguinius already has his Winged Aasimar Paladin sheet completed. Horus, also with a Paladin, is awkwardly sitting beside him watching Perturabo and Dorn come close to fistfighting before being pulled apart by Custodes.
"So...paladins, huh?"
"Yes."
~
It has been 30 minutes. Lorgar is still reading the list of deities.
~
+ Konrad. Please. Your Rogue cannot have “skinned, tortured and eaten 172 people for the crime of….indecent exposure, murder, arson and jaywalking”, where would you even find 172 people- +
Curze immediately attempts the same explanation as Russ: live demonstration.
Valdor and two attending Custodes were given extra hazard pay for “irrevocable mental trauma.”
~
+ Corvus, what are your character’s motivations? +
“Caw.”
+ I know your character is a crow, but what about his motivations? +
“Caw caw.”
+ Corvus, by the order of the Throne, I command you to explain- wait, where did he go again? +
An unknown crow caws from the vents.
~
“And my character is an Elven sorceror, multiclassed into warlock to optimized spell slots, with the Pact of the-”
+ Sorceror and Warlock multiclasses are not allowed, Magnus. +
“What? Father, why-”
+ MALCADOR AND THE DIAMOND DUST INCIDENT LAST TIME, THAT’S WHY! +
“But Father, why would this-”
+ BECAUSE MALCADOR! Now, Magnus, you horned ape, stop complaining and go play a sorcerer, warlock or wizard before I tell Constantin and Leman to remove spellcasting classes altogether. +
“Father, this is absurd-”
+ Leman, eat the warlock class. +
Magnus is presumably too shocked by the sight of Leman literally eating the rulebook to respond.
Valdor very politely files a request for extra hazard pay. (It was, unsurprisingly, denied).
~
“I built my character to be a tank, with 18 AC at the starting level, scaling onto-”
“Shut it, Dorn, my AC’s 20. Clearly your builds are as feeble as your walls, Praetorian. ”
Perturabo gets “accidentally” socked in the eye by a flying d20 launched by one “entirely careless” Imperial Fist. Dorn also gets socked in the eye by a flying d6 launched by one “entirely careless” Iron Warrior.
+ …that’s it, both of you are assigned to healers. +
Another wise decision from the Emperor!
…anyways, it takes Perturabo exactly 73 seconds to start complaining that Dorn “clearly lacked support or any kind of utility whatsoever.” It took Dorn 51 seconds to start trying to physically build a wall between himself and Perturabo to “fortify his position”. And Valdor would know, because he was used one of the building materials Dorn tried to repurpose for his wall. Fortunately, the Emperor got him out before the rockcrete could entirely set over his auramite.
~
It’s been three hours. Perturabo has just tipped Valdor 21% for bringing refreshments just to spite Dorn tipping 20%. The Emperor had attempted to placate them with a terrain building project…which was, by far, the second worst idea He has ever had since having His sons. The terrain now stretches across the length of half of the Imperial Palace’s halls. Two Cusodes have been caught in the painting. One Shield-Captain tried to intervene and was built into part of the terrain itself. He is now a very decorative mountain (very creatively named Mt. Mountain by Dorn).
Guilliman triumphantly dots his last i on his spreadsheet, and moves onto crossing his t’s. Curze has somehow eaten 16 civilians before the game even began. Valdor is making the Emperor His 6th cocktail of today. Magnus is furiously looking through the rulebook while Russ tries to eat it(again).
Malcador is trying very hard not to laugh.
~
Praise the Emperor for the Primarch’s stamina. It has been eleven hours and the terrain building contest is still ongoing. Perturabo tried building a functional volcano(complete with magma), which was vetoed by Dorn’s OSHA orders. Dorn soon very “unfortuantely” stepped upon 16 d4s with the Iron Warriors emblem upon them.
Valdor earns additional hazard pay for succesfully navigating the d4s while delivering the Emperor’s newest cocktail(and a 5% tip, goddamnit, Emperor!).
~
+ Angron? +
Angron has eaten his character sheet.
+...very well, Angron. +
~
Valdor, now fully desensitized at this point, is now stacking cups for the Emperor's next cocktail. "Seventeenth cocktail, my lord. It's called the ‘I’m Disowning All My Children’ special."
~
+ Rogal, Perturabo, I’m warning you. If either of you so much as touches another piece of terrain - +
The entire table freezes as Dorn and Perturabo both simultaneously place a brick down on the terrain. Not even a golden brick, just a brick.
+ MALCADOR, GET THE GLUE GUN. THE PRIMARCH SIZED GLUE GUN! +
~
Character creation has finished. And so has the terrain building contest ended, finishing only when a Custodes tripped and fell in the replica volcano’s magma. Valdor earns an additional name for fishing him out and “surviving submersion in magma”. Perturabo, for some reason, tips him 7%. Dorn tips him 8% out of spite.
Valdor was never even accepting tips in the first place.
~
+ For the love of me….just declare your characters. +
“Drow Rogue.” Curze hissed. He was gnawing on a femur. Was it human? Probably!
+ ….alright then. Guilliman, what of you? +
Guilliman has extensively calculated each level of his character, down to the statistical variations. The Emperor took one look at the wall of numbers and simply accepted it. Valdor can deal with the fallout.
+ …interesting. Leman? +
“BARBARIAN! +
Very well, Wolfy McWolfface.
+ ...alright. Lorgar? +
"Cleric of Tiamat. +
+ Tiamat? ...fine. Next. Sanguinius? +
"Winged aasimar Paladin, father."
+ Very well. Horus? +
"Paladin."
+ Fair choice. And you, Magnus. +
“After recent disputes, and given the party’s composition, I have decided to settle on-”
+ Magnus, you’re a wizard. Next! +
“But, Father, I-”
+ Leman! Eat the 1st level spells! +
“...never mind, Father.”
+ Angron? +
"CLERIC."
+ A....cleric? + The Emperor hasn't seen a bigger plot twist since the surprise-disownership of His sons.(gee thanks, Erda).
"YES. CLERIC." Angron punched the last Custode who questioned him. No one bothered questioning him afterwards.
+ Very...well... now you, Rogal and Perturabo, have you two decided yet? +
No, they have not, in fact, decided yet. In fact, Perturabo is still complaining that the magma was “not hot enough” despite having scorched one poor Custodian named Aureate Custodias (and 63+ names) to the bone. Dorn has an artificer geared around defense. Perturabo has a gun. No, not a Gunslinger, a literal gun.
+ …noted. Fine, Constantin, what about you? +
“Hm? My lord? I was unaware I was playing.” Valdor is delivering the Emperor's 17th cocktail of today.
+ You are now. Shut it and roll, you overgrown banana. +
A set of dice, a character sheet, a pencil, and a flying halberd were psychically chucked at Valdor. No wonder why he has the emotions of a grapefruit. All those centuries of head injuries must really be catching up to him.
“...noted, my lord." Valdor retrieves a list from his scroll, half of which consists of his name alone. "Warforged Paladin, Oath of the Crown." Again.
+ I am severely regretting many, many things involved in your creation, Constantin. +