Priam Narrative Weekend 06

Please note: this is a “catch-up” page for the whole Priam Crusade. To see the current situation visit the Campaign Progress page.

What was happening before the sixth weekend?

The Lion’s Shame

In the echoing void of what was once the planet Holt, a monument of defiance was being erected. The skeletal structure of a new fortress-monastery stood against the void of space, a breathtaking testament to the tireless efforts of the servitors and tech-priests who labored incessantly amidst the rubble and ruin. It was here, atop the fortress’s highest spire, that the Lion, Primarch of the Dark Angels, stood vigil.

His mighty form was as immovable as the adamantine foundation of the fortress itself. His emerald armor reflected the harsh, unfiltered light of the system’s dying star, casting him as a beacon amidst the shadowed debris. His visage, stern and unflinching, stared out at the rapidly changing landscape. In his eyes, the gleam of the star was mirrored, imbued with a certain sadness for a world lost and a grim determination for the redemption to come.

From the labyrinthine depths of the fortress, a solitary figure emerged. Robed in the traditional attire of the Dark Angels, Azrael, the Grand Master of the Dark Angels, stepped forth. His path wound around the towering spire, following the spiraling stairs that stretched ever upwards towards the solitary figure of the Primarch. The journey was long, the steps many, but Azrael ascended with a resolve that matched the gravity of his task.

Reaching the pinnacle of the spire, he found the Lion still as stone, staring out at the scene below. His voice carried the weight of his title as he broke the silence, “Lord Lion, the construction continues unabated. The servitors and tech-priests work tirelessly under your design.”

The Lion’s response came not in words, but in a simple nod of acknowledgement. The gravity of his silence spoke volumes, encapsulating the monumental task at hand. Their new home was rising, stone by stone, a beacon of hope in the wake of tragedy. The Lion’s vigil over its construction was as much a testament to his will as it was to his unwavering resolve. Holt was lost, but from its ruins, a new stronghold would arise – one that would stand as a beacon of the Dark Angels’ defiance against the unending tide of darkness.

The warp rift split the backdrop of the universe in twain, a screaming wound in the fabric of reality. Its multicolored, chaotic light pulsed and flickered, casting an eerie illumination upon the floating debris of the devastated Holt. The rift twisted and contorted, appearing as though the universe itself was crying out in pain, a chilling reminder of the Lions’ failure to protect the world that once thrived there.

Azrael’s gaze, drawn in by the hypnotic pulses of the rift, could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that swelled within him. “It appears more restless today,” he remarked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He turned to his Primarch, seeking his guidance in the face of such raw, chaotic power.

The Lion, his gaze unflinchingly directed towards the new fortress-monastery below, responded without looking at the warp rift. “Our shame is manifest in its restlessness,” he declared, his voice booming yet holding an undertone of grim acceptance. “Its continuous agitation serves to remind us of our past failures and the necessity of our path to redemption.”

Seeing the warp rift from this perspective, Azrael felt a shudder course through him. The rift was not just a tear in reality but a mirror reflecting their own failings. Yet, it was also a beacon, its light shining on their path, a light borne from the ashes of their defeat.

“And it stands,” the Lion continued, his voice carrying the weight of countless millennia, “defiant in its existence, just as we persist in the face of despair. It is a testament to our resilience, a marker of our fall, and a beacon of our redemption.”

His gaze finally moved from the fortress-monastery, instead turning to the warp rift. His eyes, reflecting the myriad colors of the rift, bore into it, challenging it, refusing to be broken by it. As though he were drawing strength from it, using it as a well of determination against the threats that still loomed in the distant, dark corners of the universe.

Azrael, standing beside his gene-father, watched as the Lion faced their past, their shame, and their beacon. In that moment, Azrael understood that their past failures were not chains that bound them but a forge, tempering their spirit for the trials to come. The Lion’s Shame was a source of strength, a promise of redemption, and above all, a pledge to never fail again.

The incandescent light of the dying star danced off the fortress-monastery’s outer shell, casting sharp angles of light and shadow across the hive of activity below. The new fortress, a mirror reflection of the legendary Rock, was steadily growing from the ashes of Holt, its growth as relentless as the will of the figure overseeing it from above.

The Lion, resplendent in his emerald armor, watched the construction with a discerning eye. The fortress-monastery was not just a testament to their unyielding spirit and their defiance in the face of darkness, but also a symbol of their penance and their hope for redemption.

Beside him, Azrael stood, his gaze also fixed on the flurry of activity. The servitors moved in a rhythm, like a mechanical heartbeat echoing the lifeblood of this new Rock. Guided by the sacred blueprints, tech-priests in their red robes scuttled around, their mechanic arms whirring and clicking in a symphony of creation.

“Our new Rock,” Azrael murmured, watching as another section of the fortress was slowly brought to life by the tireless servitors.

The Lion did not turn his gaze from the building. “Indeed, Azrael. This fortress is not just steel and stone. It is a manifestation of our resolve. Each bolt and beam, a testament to our defiance in the face of darkness.”

“A beacon of hope amid despair,” Azrael added, his voice taking on a solemn note.

“More than that,” the Lion countered, “a challenge to the dark forces that tore Holt apart. They sought to destroy us, but here we stand, stronger than before.”

In the distance, a new spire rose, its peak reaching out towards the star above. The construction was an intricate ballet of man and machine, of purpose and will. As each new layer was added, the fortress-monastery seemed to swell with power, with determination.

“Each brick is a step towards redemption,” Azrael concluded, “Our past may be marred by shame, but our future…our future shall be forged in honor.”

The Lion finally turned to his Grand Master, his gaze hard but filled with an indomitable resolve. “Our redemption lies not in the stones, Azrael, but in our deeds. The Rock is but a symbol, a challenge. It is our actions that shall bring us redemption.”

As the echoes of the Primarch’s words faded into the silent abyss of the universe, the fortress-monastery rose higher and stronger, its silhouette a stark contrast against the harsh light of the dying star. It was more than a symbol. It was a testament to their past, a beacon of their present, and a promise of a defiant future. It was their redemption, their New Rock.

The map for the sixth weekend

ENLARGE MAP

Previous Narrative Weekends

Priam Crusade

Dorian Uprising

Event Videos for the Sixth Weekend

Priam Narrative Weekend 06

Please note: this is a “catch-up” page for the whole Priam Crusade. To see the current situation visit the Campaign Progress page.

What was happening before the sixth weekend?

The Lion’s Shame

In the echoing void of what was once the planet Holt, a monument of defiance was being erected. The skeletal structure of a new fortress-monastery stood against the void of space, a breathtaking testament to the tireless efforts of the servitors and tech-priests who labored incessantly amidst the rubble and ruin. It was here, atop the fortress’s highest spire, that the Lion, Primarch of the Dark Angels, stood vigil.

His mighty form was as immovable as the adamantine foundation of the fortress itself. His emerald armor reflected the harsh, unfiltered light of the system’s dying star, casting him as a beacon amidst the shadowed debris. His visage, stern and unflinching, stared out at the rapidly changing landscape. In his eyes, the gleam of the star was mirrored, imbued with a certain sadness for a world lost and a grim determination for the redemption to come.

From the labyrinthine depths of the fortress, a solitary figure emerged. Robed in the traditional attire of the Dark Angels, Azrael, the Grand Master of the Dark Angels, stepped forth. His path wound around the towering spire, following the spiraling stairs that stretched ever upwards towards the solitary figure of the Primarch. The journey was long, the steps many, but Azrael ascended with a resolve that matched the gravity of his task.

Reaching the pinnacle of the spire, he found the Lion still as stone, staring out at the scene below. His voice carried the weight of his title as he broke the silence, “Lord Lion, the construction continues unabated. The servitors and tech-priests work tirelessly under your design.”

The Lion’s response came not in words, but in a simple nod of acknowledgement. The gravity of his silence spoke volumes, encapsulating the monumental task at hand. Their new home was rising, stone by stone, a beacon of hope in the wake of tragedy. The Lion’s vigil over its construction was as much a testament to his will as it was to his unwavering resolve. Holt was lost, but from its ruins, a new stronghold would arise – one that would stand as a beacon of the Dark Angels’ defiance against the unending tide of darkness.

The warp rift split the backdrop of the universe in twain, a screaming wound in the fabric of reality. Its multicolored, chaotic light pulsed and flickered, casting an eerie illumination upon the floating debris of the devastated Holt. The rift twisted and contorted, appearing as though the universe itself was crying out in pain, a chilling reminder of the Lions’ failure to protect the world that once thrived there.

Azrael’s gaze, drawn in by the hypnotic pulses of the rift, could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that swelled within him. “It appears more restless today,” he remarked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He turned to his Primarch, seeking his guidance in the face of such raw, chaotic power.

The Lion, his gaze unflinchingly directed towards the new fortress-monastery below, responded without looking at the warp rift. “Our shame is manifest in its restlessness,” he declared, his voice booming yet holding an undertone of grim acceptance. “Its continuous agitation serves to remind us of our past failures and the necessity of our path to redemption.”

Seeing the warp rift from this perspective, Azrael felt a shudder course through him. The rift was not just a tear in reality but a mirror reflecting their own failings. Yet, it was also a beacon, its light shining on their path, a light borne from the ashes of their defeat.

“And it stands,” the Lion continued, his voice carrying the weight of countless millennia, “defiant in its existence, just as we persist in the face of despair. It is a testament to our resilience, a marker of our fall, and a beacon of our redemption.”

His gaze finally moved from the fortress-monastery, instead turning to the warp rift. His eyes, reflecting the myriad colors of the rift, bore into it, challenging it, refusing to be broken by it. As though he were drawing strength from it, using it as a well of determination against the threats that still loomed in the distant, dark corners of the universe.

Azrael, standing beside his gene-father, watched as the Lion faced their past, their shame, and their beacon. In that moment, Azrael understood that their past failures were not chains that bound them but a forge, tempering their spirit for the trials to come. The Lion’s Shame was a source of strength, a promise of redemption, and above all, a pledge to never fail again.

The incandescent light of the dying star danced off the fortress-monastery’s outer shell, casting sharp angles of light and shadow across the hive of activity below. The new fortress, a mirror reflection of the legendary Rock, was steadily growing from the ashes of Holt, its growth as relentless as the will of the figure overseeing it from above.

The Lion, resplendent in his emerald armor, watched the construction with a discerning eye. The fortress-monastery was not just a testament to their unyielding spirit and their defiance in the face of darkness, but also a symbol of their penance and their hope for redemption.

Beside him, Azrael stood, his gaze also fixed on the flurry of activity. The servitors moved in a rhythm, like a mechanical heartbeat echoing the lifeblood of this new Rock. Guided by the sacred blueprints, tech-priests in their red robes scuttled around, their mechanic arms whirring and clicking in a symphony of creation.

“Our new Rock,” Azrael murmured, watching as another section of the fortress was slowly brought to life by the tireless servitors.

The Lion did not turn his gaze from the building. “Indeed, Azrael. This fortress is not just steel and stone. It is a manifestation of our resolve. Each bolt and beam, a testament to our defiance in the face of darkness.”

“A beacon of hope amid despair,” Azrael added, his voice taking on a solemn note.

“More than that,” the Lion countered, “a challenge to the dark forces that tore Holt apart. They sought to destroy us, but here we stand, stronger than before.”

In the distance, a new spire rose, its peak reaching out towards the star above. The construction was an intricate ballet of man and machine, of purpose and will. As each new layer was added, the fortress-monastery seemed to swell with power, with determination.

“Each brick is a step towards redemption,” Azrael concluded, “Our past may be marred by shame, but our future…our future shall be forged in honor.”

The Lion finally turned to his Grand Master, his gaze hard but filled with an indomitable resolve. “Our redemption lies not in the stones, Azrael, but in our deeds. The Rock is but a symbol, a challenge. It is our actions that shall bring us redemption.”

As the echoes of the Primarch’s words faded into the silent abyss of the universe, the fortress-monastery rose higher and stronger, its silhouette a stark contrast against the harsh light of the dying star. It was more than a symbol. It was a testament to their past, a beacon of their present, and a promise of a defiant future. It was their redemption, their New Rock.

The map for the sixth weekend

ENLARGE MAP

Previous Narrative Weekends

Priam Crusade

Dorian Uprising

Event Videos for the Sixth Weekend

Priam Narrative Weekend 06

Please note: this is a “catch-up” page for the whole Priam Crusade. To see the current situation visit the Campaign Progress page.

What was happening before the sixth weekend?

The Lion’s Shame

In the echoing void of what was once the planet Holt, a monument of defiance was being erected. The skeletal structure of a new fortress-monastery stood against the void of space, a breathtaking testament to the tireless efforts of the servitors and tech-priests who labored incessantly amidst the rubble and ruin. It was here, atop the fortress’s highest spire, that the Lion, Primarch of the Dark Angels, stood vigil.

His mighty form was as immovable as the adamantine foundation of the fortress itself. His emerald armor reflected the harsh, unfiltered light of the system’s dying star, casting him as a beacon amidst the shadowed debris. His visage, stern and unflinching, stared out at the rapidly changing landscape. In his eyes, the gleam of the star was mirrored, imbued with a certain sadness for a world lost and a grim determination for the redemption to come.

From the labyrinthine depths of the fortress, a solitary figure emerged. Robed in the traditional attire of the Dark Angels, Azrael, the Grand Master of the Dark Angels, stepped forth. His path wound around the towering spire, following the spiraling stairs that stretched ever upwards towards the solitary figure of the Primarch. The journey was long, the steps many, but Azrael ascended with a resolve that matched the gravity of his task.

Reaching the pinnacle of the spire, he found the Lion still as stone, staring out at the scene below. His voice carried the weight of his title as he broke the silence, “Lord Lion, the construction continues unabated. The servitors and tech-priests work tirelessly under your design.”

The Lion’s response came not in words, but in a simple nod of acknowledgement. The gravity of his silence spoke volumes, encapsulating the monumental task at hand. Their new home was rising, stone by stone, a beacon of hope in the wake of tragedy. The Lion’s vigil over its construction was as much a testament to his will as it was to his unwavering resolve. Holt was lost, but from its ruins, a new stronghold would arise – one that would stand as a beacon of the Dark Angels’ defiance against the unending tide of darkness.

The warp rift split the backdrop of the universe in twain, a screaming wound in the fabric of reality. Its multicolored, chaotic light pulsed and flickered, casting an eerie illumination upon the floating debris of the devastated Holt. The rift twisted and contorted, appearing as though the universe itself was crying out in pain, a chilling reminder of the Lions’ failure to protect the world that once thrived there.

Azrael’s gaze, drawn in by the hypnotic pulses of the rift, could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that swelled within him. “It appears more restless today,” he remarked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He turned to his Primarch, seeking his guidance in the face of such raw, chaotic power.

The Lion, his gaze unflinchingly directed towards the new fortress-monastery below, responded without looking at the warp rift. “Our shame is manifest in its restlessness,” he declared, his voice booming yet holding an undertone of grim acceptance. “Its continuous agitation serves to remind us of our past failures and the necessity of our path to redemption.”

Seeing the warp rift from this perspective, Azrael felt a shudder course through him. The rift was not just a tear in reality but a mirror reflecting their own failings. Yet, it was also a beacon, its light shining on their path, a light borne from the ashes of their defeat.

“And it stands,” the Lion continued, his voice carrying the weight of countless millennia, “defiant in its existence, just as we persist in the face of despair. It is a testament to our resilience, a marker of our fall, and a beacon of our redemption.”

His gaze finally moved from the fortress-monastery, instead turning to the warp rift. His eyes, reflecting the myriad colors of the rift, bore into it, challenging it, refusing to be broken by it. As though he were drawing strength from it, using it as a well of determination against the threats that still loomed in the distant, dark corners of the universe.

Azrael, standing beside his gene-father, watched as the Lion faced their past, their shame, and their beacon. In that moment, Azrael understood that their past failures were not chains that bound them but a forge, tempering their spirit for the trials to come. The Lion’s Shame was a source of strength, a promise of redemption, and above all, a pledge to never fail again.

The incandescent light of the dying star danced off the fortress-monastery’s outer shell, casting sharp angles of light and shadow across the hive of activity below. The new fortress, a mirror reflection of the legendary Rock, was steadily growing from the ashes of Holt, its growth as relentless as the will of the figure overseeing it from above.

The Lion, resplendent in his emerald armor, watched the construction with a discerning eye. The fortress-monastery was not just a testament to their unyielding spirit and their defiance in the face of darkness, but also a symbol of their penance and their hope for redemption.

Beside him, Azrael stood, his gaze also fixed on the flurry of activity. The servitors moved in a rhythm, like a mechanical heartbeat echoing the lifeblood of this new Rock. Guided by the sacred blueprints, tech-priests in their red robes scuttled around, their mechanic arms whirring and clicking in a symphony of creation.

“Our new Rock,” Azrael murmured, watching as another section of the fortress was slowly brought to life by the tireless servitors.

The Lion did not turn his gaze from the building. “Indeed, Azrael. This fortress is not just steel and stone. It is a manifestation of our resolve. Each bolt and beam, a testament to our defiance in the face of darkness.”

“A beacon of hope amid despair,” Azrael added, his voice taking on a solemn note.

“More than that,” the Lion countered, “a challenge to the dark forces that tore Holt apart. They sought to destroy us, but here we stand, stronger than before.”

In the distance, a new spire rose, its peak reaching out towards the star above. The construction was an intricate ballet of man and machine, of purpose and will. As each new layer was added, the fortress-monastery seemed to swell with power, with determination.

“Each brick is a step towards redemption,” Azrael concluded, “Our past may be marred by shame, but our future…our future shall be forged in honor.”

The Lion finally turned to his Grand Master, his gaze hard but filled with an indomitable resolve. “Our redemption lies not in the stones, Azrael, but in our deeds. The Rock is but a symbol, a challenge. It is our actions that shall bring us redemption.”

As the echoes of the Primarch’s words faded into the silent abyss of the universe, the fortress-monastery rose higher and stronger, its silhouette a stark contrast against the harsh light of the dying star. It was more than a symbol. It was a testament to their past, a beacon of their present, and a promise of a defiant future. It was their redemption, their New Rock.

The map for the sixth weekend

ENLARGE MAP

Previous Narrative Weekends

Priam Crusade

Dorian Uprising

Event Videos for the Sixth Weekend

To top