Deviation Actions
Description
“Does your god of bloodshed fear the competition, perhaps?”
The last sane words of Manuel Graspar
As Horus’ treachery was revealed, and though in hindsight it is easy to see how the change upon his forces was too sudden and deranged, there were yet those who denied the hand of dark forces behind the Warmaster’s unimaginable act, both the Emperor’s decree of atheism and the rather material (though alien) nature of the Astartes’ usual enemies making it hard to believe the very existence of the Ruinous Four.
Manuel Graspar, Terran-born and sharer of Rogal Dorn’s pragmatism, was one such soul. But where the Primarch drew his ways from the use of cold logic, Graspar let the cruelty of the Galaxy erase any notion of godhood he might ever have had and openly mocked the first sign of religious fervor. In all else but the liking for dark jesting, though, he was a true son of the Praetorian: rigid, duty-bound and solid as stone, both on the offensive and the defensive. When Rogal Dorn put Graspar in command of the 20-man garrison on the fortress-castle on Samson, he knew the whole of his son’s soul would be put to the task.
When a band of World Eaters attacked the fortress on their way to the Eye of Terror, after their defeat at Terra, Graspar held the place masterfully, denying the much more numerous attackers any entry to the castle for more than seven hours. When the fighting devolved into a bloody melee for each meter of the fortress’ corridors, the Imperial Fist, as expected, openly mocked the World Eater’s chants and devotion to Khorne…and sealed his and his brothers’ fate. His treachery was too abrupt to allow any other explanation: the Blood God heard Graspar’s mockery and immediately punished him, overcoming his mind. What footage remains of the event shows Graspar’s censors’ vapour turning crimson. For a moment he seems dizzied by this, right before slamming his hammer, ‘Certainty’, against Sergeant Searax. The rest of the battle, as is easy to deduce, was a massacre. Even the iron will of the Imperial Fists could not prepare them for their Captain’s treason.
Now, ten thousand years passed, Manuel Graspar still guards Samson, though the planet is gone, nothing remaining of it but the rocky crust enveloping the fortress’ sub-levels, and so the void-roaming castle has taken the planet’s name. It has also become a portent of suffering and gut-wrenching slaughter for millions of Imperial citizens and xenos alike. Where Samson exits the Warp, the hordes of Khorne follow swiftly, bloodletters, chaos space marines and all manner of gore-soaked monstrosities descending on whatever worlds they can reach. Inside the castle, Graspar practices his daily duties, as befitting a loyal son of Dorne. In his mind, he sees a nest of traitors on every Imperial hive; the golden companies of the VIIth Legion on Khorne’s red-and-brass hordes; the VIIth’s artificers placing a golden eagle on his armour instead of the Dark Mechanicum adepts riveting yet another spiked plaque; he sees his brothers sitting beside him at the feasting table and not their skulls adorning his armour.
But perhaps the most troubling, broken aspect of Manuel Graspar’s psyche is that he is dead. Every time he was mortally wounded, one of his brothers donned his wargear and took his place at the head of Samson. This was the Imperial Army’s first assumption, before blood tests were run, images and sound analyzed. For some reason, the Dark Mechanicum replace Graspar’s face every time he nearly falls, grafting the face of one of the loyal Imperial Fists who were betrayed by Graspar during the Scouring. In turn, Graspar impersonates the fallen Marine almost perfectly, only the voice remaining the same. To the Imperial Fists, Manuel Graspar is a reminder of the power of Khorne, a stain upon their honour and, above all, a painful, ever-playing memory of a tragedy.
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First of my new series, Traitoris Probrosum, once-loyal Marines from loyalist Chapters/Legions that now devote themselves to one of the Chaos Gods. Hope you like him. Next it's Iron Hands time!
