Meet the Primarchs (Warhammer High) - Revision history

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1d4chan>StringBean: :p

2020-12-11T05:15:53Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 05:15, 11 December 2020
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	[[Category:Warhammer High]]		[[Category:Warhammer High]]

			[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YRs0loJAT-M Page intro music]

	Here are collected all of the Meet the [[Primarch]] stories from the [[Warhammer High]] project. Please note that none of these stories are set in stone, and that authors from the WHH project often disregard them entirely as they see fit.		Here are collected all of the Meet the [[Primarch]] stories from the [[Warhammer High]] project. Please note that none of these stories are set in stone, and that authors from the WHH project often disregard them entirely as they see fit.

69.117.119.229: /* Meeting Corvus Corax */

2020-12-11T04:05:48Z

Meeting Corvus Corax

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	“What? Oh right, sorry I got distracted reading.” Magnus called from within the library. Miranda giggled, “He does that all the time.” Remembering Magnus’s comments from earlier Castor couldn’t help but smirk as he followed Miranda out. Guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. “I heard that, boy! Be home by eleven.” Magnus’s voice boomed out after them.		“What? Oh right, sorry I got distracted reading.” Magnus called from within the library. Miranda giggled, “He does that all the time.” Remembering Magnus’s comments from earlier Castor couldn’t help but smirk as he followed Miranda out. Guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. “I heard that, boy! Be home by eleven.” Magnus’s voice boomed out after them.

	==Meeting Corax==		==Meeting Corvus Corax==
	It was already dark when the young man approached the huge, black tower, which was surrounded by screeching ravens, and he shivered at the thought of living in this tombstone-like building. As he couldn’t find a door bell, he used the raven-shaped doorknocker and waited, a bit timid about what might lie behind the giant, wooden doors.		It was already dark when the young man approached the huge, black tower, which was surrounded by screeching ravens, and he shivered at the thought of living in this tombstone-like building. As he couldn’t find a door bell, he used the raven-shaped doorknocker and waited, a bit timid about what might lie behind the giant, wooden doors.
	Suddenly, one of the doors was opened with a sound not unlike the cry of a raven, and a familiar girl looked at him, her black hairs falling uncontrollably into her pallid but beautiful face.		Suddenly, one of the doors was opened with a sound not unlike the cry of a raven, and a familiar girl looked at him, her black hairs falling uncontrollably into her pallid but beautiful face.

174.72.247.201: /* Meeting Perturabo */

2019-08-28T05:44:30Z

Meeting Perturabo

← Older revision		Revision as of 05:44, 28 August 2019
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	The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently cooing — shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.		The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently cooing — shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by him with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.

174.72.247.201: /* Meeting Perturabo */

2019-04-10T10:06:07Z

Meeting Perturabo

← Older revision		Revision as of 10:06, 10 April 2019
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	The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of ~~both~~ an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently cooing — shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.		The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently cooing — shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.

174.72.247.201: /* Meeting Perturabo */

2019-01-08T23:39:46Z

Meeting Perturabo

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:39, 8 January 2019
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	The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of both an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently ~~cooking—~~ shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.		The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of both an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently cooing — shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.

2605:6000:F3C0:8A00:D836:328E:5B0F:6E1: /* Meeting Perturabo */

2018-12-27T23:58:29Z

Meeting Perturabo

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:58, 27 December 2018
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	The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was ~~controlled~~ chaos— the place of both an artist, an architect, and a scholar. ~~Shelves~~ filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.		The huge man leaned back in his throne, the room's dim light bouncing off the slab of metal that formed his desk. His office was organized chaos— everything laid about in a way that would only make sense to him— the place of both an artist, an architect, and a scholar. Handcrafted birdcages hanging from the cieling— some empty, some with birds gently cooking— shelves filled with books of every topic from vintage to more contemporary works shared the same space as gilded eggs and other small and intricate clockwork devices, as well as various boxes of tools and drafting kits. His desk was of even greater disarray, loose piles of philosophical treatises, schematics for various machines, small scale blueprints of architectural marvels yet to be built, small tools meant for a jeweler, not to mention a host of cogs, springs, screws that were most assuredly handcrafted by with utmost care. But even while being in a place filled with such wonderful things, all the boy sitting across from Perturabo could see where those eyes. Those terrible, piercing, ice blue eyes staring right into his heart and soul. They never left the young man's face, ever searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of future treachery.


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	"You try my patience, boy. I shall ask you one last time: why do you wish to spend time with my daughter outside of the normal educational environment? Her time is limited. She has much to learn. She is the one thing that I care about above all others. And I promise you that you shall get nothing from her that I do not wish her to give.”, Perturabo had stood up from his throne and leaned in towards the young man, “Now... ANSWER ME!"		"You try my patience, boy. I shall ask you one last time: why do you wish to spend time with my daughter outside of the normal educational environment? Her time is limited. She has much to learn. She is the one thing that I care about above all others. And I promise you that you shall get nothing from her that I do not wish her to give.”, Perturabo had stood up from his throne and leaned in towards the young man, “Now... ANSWER ME!", he shouted, the birds now quiet in their cages.